The high-pitched wail of the building tracking data monitor cut through the rhythmic roar of the Aethelgard’s star-fire thrusters with ear-splitting urgency. On the bridge’s outside status board, the icon representing the port solar magnetic sail shifted from a calm cyan to a strobing, angry amber: Zero-loss FLUX ANOMALY: 82% THERMAL OVERLOAD.
“Vance!” Chief Szabo’s voice bellowed through the ship’s intercom system, punctuated by the sharp hiss of air-powered valves venting white-hot steam into the exhaust chimney pipes. “The port sail’s intake coils are choking! That first wave of Leech-Mantras didn’t just buzz past—they dropped a cloud of micro-filament bio-matter straight into our magnetic intake funnel! The black crud is wrapping around the zero-pushback niobium-silver-steel loops like wet rope. It’s drinking the magnetic-pull current!”
Arthur was already out of his command chair, his magnetic boots clumping heavily against the deck plates as he sprinted toward the dorsal preparation airlock. “Kira, roll the corvette twenty degrees to starboard! Present our armored keel to the main sun-fire prominence! Titus, on me!”
Behind Arthur, the heavy steel inner walls groaned as Titus lumbered into motion. The giant terrapin moved with the steady, unstoppable driving force of a shifting earth-shaking plate. His black glass shell, dark as fiery glass and crisscrossed with ancient, glowing magma-veins, radiated a comforting earth-heat that drove back the metal chill of the hall. Titus snorted through his wide nostrils, a puff of warm rotten-egg vapor curling from his snout, his wise, ancient eyes locked on Arthur with total understanding…
