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Shaman Space Part 5 14 months after leaving Mother of All. In final jump to Mother of All. Sparks and Alaine were in the engine room checking over the engines before exiting jump. It had been a much busier jump than usual, as the Captain and Suri, the navigator, were bringing in the captured raider ship. At least, the crew hoped they were. Once they entered jump, there was no way of communicating or even locating the other ship. "How are you and Seeker holding up?" Sparks asked, without looking up from the diagnostics display. "One point five seven - what?" "How are you and Seeker holding up? It was a pretty intense thing with that raider ship." "We're" Alaine paused and started again "I'm still having some rough nights. I'm looking forward to meeting with a counsellor at Mother of All. Seeker says they are very good at dealing with trauma." "And Seeker?" "She's not as shaken up as the first time. Partly because of the first time, and partly because those people were her ancestral nemesis. But I think she's looking forward to some counselling as well." "Good. How's that coil looking?" "Uh, one point five seven above spec. Within acceptable limits." "One point five seven? That's about as close to perfect as you could hope for." The intercom chimed "Bridge to Engineering. Are we clear?" the voice of Engel the First Mate came from the grill next to the diagnostic station. Alaine glanced at Sparks who nodded. "All clear bridge" he replied. "All hands, all hands, stand by for re-entry into normal space." Alaine watched as the jump engines collapsed their private universe around them, and dropped them back into normal space. Engel's voice came over the intercom again "We are now in normal space. Resume duties." "Reaction drives active" Alaine reported after checking his instruments. "Confirmed. All systems online" Sparks responded as she did her own checks. "Confirmed" Alaine replied. "OK, off to the bridge with you, Alaine. I've got things here." He nodded, and started to head forward. He paused at the hatch "Sparks?" "Yeah?" "Thanks for asking." "No problem. We're as good as family on this ship. We look after each other." "I know, but still, thanks." Alaine continued forward to the bridge. Engel, Dyani, and Seeker were there. "Any word from Bright Sky?" he asked as he entered. Seeker looked up from the comms panel "Not yet, but they could be a few minutes away." "I'm not picking up any other ships in the immediate area" Dyani added. Seeker frowned "Hold on" she tweaked the gain control, and listened. There was a pause. "I have Bright Sky. She's about fifteen light minutes away. She came out just before us. Sending our position." Engel looked back at Seeker "Are they OK?" "Yes, yes, all systems nominal." "OK, Alaine, calculate a rendezvous that we can make into an approach to Divesen Station. Dyani, stay on the scope for any trouble." "On it" they both replied. Seeker looked towards the distant sun. She was almost home. She had news. #SFF #SF #SciFi #microfic #tootfic #microfiction #IAmWriting #ShamanSpace

Walter Justin Deanmoore looked at his hotel room. His belongings appeared to be all present, but what was not present was his suitcase. Again. Over the last ten years of near constant travel he had been through eight suitcases, seven travel packs, five trunks, and three duffel bags. All had vanished the day before he was due to check out. All had later surfaced in cities he had never visited and had absolutely watertight alibis for. Which was a very good thing, because each time they had a body in them. A dead body. Sometimes the murderer had been caught, sometimes not. Walter reached for the phone "Hello? I'd like to speak to the day manager." He waited for a few moments "Good afternoon, it is Deanmoore in 418. Has anyone left the hotel today with a green suitcase with black leather straps?" He paused. "Yes, it is an odd question. My suitcase is missing. My belongings are not, however. Just the suitcase." Another pause. "Seven? All at once? I see. I suggest you prepare your records for the police. No it is deadly serious." He hung up and dialed again. "Hello? Yes, I'd like to report that there has almost certainly been a murder in or near the Green Field Hotel." "No I don't know who or why. It is because my suitcase is missing." He held the receiver away from his ear for a good minute. "If you are quite finished, you could call the Marseille police, the New York police, or even Scotland Yard. Ask them about the Deanmoore Suitcases." He took a breath. "Yes, I am Walter Deanmoore. Yes. Seven people checked out earlier today with suitcases identical to mine. Right. Good. Thank-you." Walter sat back. He was not getting his suitcase back, he was sure of that. But at least the killer - or killers - might not get so far this time. #microfiction #microfic #tootfic #Mystery #murder #IAmWriting #IBlameChristie

"November Victor Victor Victor, this is Victor Hotel Charlie Seven Bravo, We are seeing some heavy weather ahead. Over." Annika waited for a reply, glancing across at Chika her co-pilot. "Seven Bravo" started the reply, followed by a burst of static and silence. "November Victor Victor Victor say again" Annika sent back. Nothing. "Annika? BOM has a cat four three hundred to our south" Chika's broad Alice Springs accent stronger than usual. "How old is the report?" "Two hours. No way this could be it." "No reply. Change us to Kiribati." "Changing to three seven. Done." She tried Kiribati airport. Nothing The two pilots watched the storm as it closed in on them, almost looking like it was reaching around to trap them. Chika made a face "Call in a Pan. Changing to emergency." Annika made the call. A sudden air pocket dropped the little twin engine Baron a thousand feet. Both pilots jolted in their seats, and Chika's head struck her headrest violently. "Chika?" Annika asked, and then repeated it louder. There was no reply. She glanced over, and saw her partner slumped in her seat, unconcious - or worse. Then there was a bright flash, and the engines cut out. Annika went through the restart procedure - nothing. Somewhere the lightning had shorted something. The static in her ear told her that the radio was still working. Then they were below the clouds. Heavy rain made it hard to make anything out, but she thought she could see a small atoll ahead. Gliding the Baron through the turbulence of the storm was tricky, especially without second pair of eyes. Then Chika sat up "Don't try to ditch, the reef will mess you up good" she said in a Midwestern accent. Annika glanced over and stared. Chika was looking over the instruments and the flight plan, and then looked back. "There's an airport at Kiribati?" She asked in the same strange voice. "Chika?" Annika asked uncertainly. "Just call me Millie for now" the American voice replied, "I'll raise a mayday. Line up on the long Southwest strip. Mayday Mayday Mayday, this is November Romeo One Six Zero Two Zero. Engines out, attempting landing on Gardner Island." Then she repeated the message twice more. Annika fought the winds, and got the little plane lined up. One chance. As she struggled with the controls she asked "Who are you?" "Just don't make the same mistake me and Fred made, OK?" Then there was no time. The plane crashed through the low scrub, and ploughed into a dune. She looked across again, but Chika was slumped again. But breathing. She shut everything down. No smoke. Chika groaned. "What happened?" No American voice. "We crashed. Lightning. You remember anything?" "No, why?" "Never mind. I'm going to deploy the EPIRB." They were sheltering under a wing two days later when they saw a launch approaching. Annika saw another woman smiling next to Chika, then she blinked, and Chika was alone, waving to the boat. #SF #SFF #SciFi #microfiction #microfic #tootfic #IAmWriting

It is a popular mathematical experiment to try and work out just how fast Santa has to be to reach every house with a child in a single 24 hour period. The calculations always end up with a significant fraction of the speed of light. There then usually follow discussions about what the collateral damage from Santa's passing would be. And cargo limits, and so on. All of these are wrong, and ignore another end-of-year tradition. The portrayal of the ending year as an old man. Now that I've put these two traditions side-by-side, I think you can see what is really going on. It is possible for one man to visit every house in a night, with no shock waves or any of that silliness. But it comes at a cost. For that man, the night lasts many years, as he travels back in time after each visit. Even with time travel, he does not get much time to eat - so the snacks you leave out are essential to him surviving the night. But he only just survives. By the end of the night he will have aged over forty years. And then he hands the reigns of the time-travelling sleigh to a younger man, warning him of the cost. Someone always answers the call, despite the cost, because there is always someone willing to sacrifice everything to bring joy and light, even just a little, even if only for a moment. So leave the snacks, and, if you catch a glimpse of him, give him a bow of respect. He deserves it. #SFF #SF #Christmas #Santa #microfiction #microfic #tootfic #IAmWriting