Sunday, May 22, 2011

Search for the Space Deserters

(Wrote this for Friday's writing prompt over at Creative Copy Challenge. The words in bold are the challenge words. I called this one "Search for the Space Deserters." Hope you guys enjoy.)

"Jensen, kill the switch. We need to drop speed fast," shouted Commander Fuchs over the loud hum-drum of the engines.
"Ok, sir." Jensen reached for his communication device, "All hands on deck. Prepare for a sudden speed shift. This might be a little rocky." He set the device back into place and put his hand on the lever. "Are you ready, sir?"
"Always," responded the commanding officer, leaning back, preparing himself for the shock. He didn't know what it was, but changing speeds in his ship always reminded him of the shifting gears in his antique car back on Earth. There was a problem with the transmission, so every time it shifted up or down, it would jump and land a gear or two above or below where it should have been. That car left plenty of skid marks in its wake, just as he was sure this ship would, too, if it could.
As soon as Jensen pulled the lever, the ship came to what felt like a near stop.
"Sir, we're going eighty kilometers an hour now. Optimum search speed. What do you think we should do now?" Jensen asked.
Commander Fuchs straightened in his chair. "Show me the visuals up on the overheads. We need to know where to look. What the hell would motivate them to come all the way out here?" He scratched his head. "Dryer, get all the comms up. Let's see if we can find them on the radio waves first. Then we can go do some hide-and-seeking."
Dryer search for half an hour but came up with nothing.
"Ok, time for the hard work. Adkins, you're the master tracker here. Where do you think they'd be?" Fuchs was getting a little nervous. Returning empty-handed would not be good. He needed to find the deserters. 
"Well sir, if you ask me, I'd have to say they'd be hiding in that dust cloud over here," said Adkins, pointing at a smudgy spot on the map.
"That looks like it's as good a hiding spot as any other. Ok, let's give this a little. Good thinking, Adkins." The commander shifted in his chair. "Jensen, could you thrust us into that direction. Gently. We can't blow it this time. We need them alive."
"Whatever you say, sir," said Jensen, in more of a mutter.
"What did you say?"
"Yes, sir."
"That's more like it. I'm not here to fight you. We need to get those traitors back. So let's go."
The ship began to shake as it entered the dust cloud. Commander Fuchs began to sweat. If they returned empty-handed, the Grand council would refuse to promote him to admiral. An even less desirable punishment would be waiting for him back at home. His wife, waiting for her brother, who was now leading the deserters.

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