These things tend to be short pieces that may or may not be the beginning of something else. Originally they were 101 words but this month I will allow myself more. M’s prompt was ‘mysterious mounds’
Bort slammed an angry fist on the console, lights blinking blue and red as his antennae turning a deep crimson.
“Dexlar, get me a target now” he barked, “and can someone get me a sit-rep on the other advance vessels. We didn’t cross seven galaxies and spend all that time in stasis in search of a new home to fail when we are so close. There is no going back so someone needs to get this vessel online right now and we need to take down their defences.”
“All comms offline Captain, negative on the advance vessels at present. We seem to have emerged from slip stream but all signals are dark.”
Bort turned on the junior offices monitoring the display, two rows of sharp teeth bared in a `snarl. “I swear by the seven moons of Tarl your ancestors will remember my name and shit their pants if you don’t find me those vessels now!”
Dexlar swallowed nervously and punched frantically at the nav console, scanning the low band frequencies for any evidence of the advance party. The thought of his great grandchildren quivering with soiled britches was not something he liked to consider.
“Have I got a target yet” Bort yelled pacing the command deck. The large array of screens before him unusually empty. “Can someone tell me why I’m not seeing anything? Anyone?”
“Sir it looks like something is jamming all signals both inbound and outbound.” Said Dexlar.
Bort stopped his pacing and once again turned on him. “I did mention the pant shitting did I not?” he asked nostrils flaring and yellow eyes narrowed. “I very much think I was quite specific on that matter”
“Sir you did sir” Drexlar replied, his mouth dry and the scales on his neck flushing green then yellow. “I’ve dispatched team alpha to attempt external reconnaissance as all sensors remain offline and auxiliary sensors are unresponsive.”
“Patch me through shit britches” Bort demanded resuming his pacing. “Alpha come in do you copy?” He paused for a moment before receiving a response.
Drexlar tried to patch the comms through to his own station but the captain’s security protocol prevented him.
“Alpha repeat” Bort snapped, “I don’t think I heard you right.”
The purple drained from his face. “…Faecal matter? You mean shit?” he asked quizically. “What the hell is big enough to completely encase a class one destroyer Alpha, make sense damn it or I will have your….”
Drexlar stared at the Captain and then looked quickly away as he turned in his direction.
“Alpha repeat” he continued his tone now wholly less confident. He listened and shook his head. “Are you absolutely certain, without doubt?”
Drexlar and the other junior offices had stopped what they were doing, threat of soiled ancestors or not, and stared at the Captain. The look on his face told them it was not good. They waited for an eternity before Bort spoke again.
“Copy that Alpha, confirming scale estimate irregularities. Can you be certain of the dimension differences?”
The Junior officers slowly encircled Bort.
“One five hundredth? Are you sure?” His tone was barely a whisper now. “Okay copy Alpha leader.”
Drexlar spoke first as the Captain looked up to see the faces of the pfficers around him. “What is is Sir?” He asked. “What’s happened?”
Bort licked his lips, his mouth dry. “Shit…”