Inside its clear metaplast bubble, the bridge-throne acted like the shuttle of a loom. Captain Susan Clair angled and dodged the bridge-throne through the many moving coloured streams of plasma. Things were not usually this intense, but there were some disturbing and strange patterns coming down the ‘line’ today.

The ‘line’ was the unofficial name given to the natural prevailing plasma trade-wind that courses its way across the many dimensions of existence. A living chain of quantum entanglement, it was the perfect carrier signal for inter-dimensional communications.

Messages could be sent - like a bottle in the ocean - carried by the strong currents of the ‘line’. To keep from fading, these messages needed to be amplified along the line by communications platforms, most of them automatic satellites in a chain. For maintenance, troubleshooting and the odd high priority diplomatic messages, there were a few manned stations. These were usually old airborne artillery platforms, rebuilt with special communications equipment.

Capt. Clair:

Re-focus vector three would you hun, I think we have a carrier satellite down in the chain, but I’ve seen those little pieces of crap go down before, and this is totally off the scale…

Captain Clair's carrier platform was a standard 100m x 100m three story job - all of the big guns removed to make way for the complex array of signal dishes and antennae. The massive Ether Gyros on each of the four corners towered above and below - but their awesome thrust power was never used. The ship relied entirely on the gentle anti-grav units and a massive vector-sail that protruded below the ship - leveraging the motion of the invisible ‘line’ to carry the ship along its course.

Capt. Clair:

That’s it… just about there... SHIT, that damned ‘News of the Host’ bullshit - they boost that signal more each year, it totally scrambles the maintenance frequencies. Hun, let’s try an alternative vector… Amy - you there…

Amy:

Ya, sorry, just wondering if there is some big storm down the line or something - I’m getting one of the Gunthers on it.

‘Gunthers’ are a category of maintenance robot, most of them next to ancient, but they were still the most reliable.
   Their greatest feature was their ability to repair and maintain themselves. They were most often found in the maintenance crews of the great Zeppelin armadas of the Host.
   With the war winding down, many had been resold to other purposes. Clair discovered that they had a penchant for research tasks, and had recently repopulated most of her android crew (of twenty or so) with Gunthers

Capt. Clair:

Good call luv, so try vector Alt21

Amy:

Hey! Sonofabitch. Looks like we have a lock. Cool.

Capt. Clair:

Funny, I swear that the Host has forgotten about the ‘Alt’ category vectors - nobody seems to use them at all…

Amy:

Uh, Clair, it’s no storm. The Satellite two links away was snuffed, sure as day. I got a fix on the debris, it’s still transmitting distress protocol… uh, Clair… it was manned.

Capt. Clair:

Oh my god… I’m coming out.

Clair locked the bridge-throne in to its park bracket at the back of its bubble, unhooked and unstrapped herself from the equipment and scurried down the deck ladder to the command riser in at the centre of the bridge.

Amy:

You are right about the Alt frequencies... I might even have a visual…

The command table screen flickered to life. A scratchy transmission faded in and out of static.

…verified sector… identified as a Host ship, gave clearance… black vortex, I repeat vortex… evasive manoeuvres successful - guns and engines all operational, targeting in response… fatal damage, nine souls on board, mayday, mayday…

Capt. Clair:

They’re gone. Holy shit, nobody’s ever up here, it takes special equipment to ride the line, so rogue attacks are out of the question. Who would have the ability to be here on the line… and want to attack a barely armed relay platform?

Amy:

Their evasive manoeuvres were hot, look at the path, they must have had the big engines cooking. With their super thrust to mass ratio they could have dodged anything. This was no standard attack. It must have been some massive wide field weapon - nothing like I’ve ever seen.

Capt. Clair:

Where are we? What is the current dimension below us?

Amy:

Our position is 110678-Beta-quod, that puts us over ‘Endelo-Ntulo’ - that appears to be an ancient Zulu mythic primal state - an early post creation plane of existence. High chaos factor, but our line shields would protect us, I think…

Capt. Clair:

We would need the big engines to jump the line, what is their condition?

Amy:

Clair... post conversion... you know, they’ve never been started.

Capt. Clair:

Fuel?

Amy:

Even given ambient evaporation, we should be loaded. If you’re thinking about starting those puppies up I better get the Gunthers all over them NOW!

Capt. Clair:

Go.

...Now get me a fix on the next satellite in the chain. I see it’s unmanned - an automatic node. Good.

Amy:

Got it already, it is position two away from us. It has received a request-to-pass from what appears to be a… get this… high level diplomatic ship of the Host. It appears to be a Cathedral class Dreadnaught. What the hell…?

Capt. Clair:

Override the satellite controls - give me remote control over that unmanned satellite unit.

Amy:

Done.

Capt. Clair:

Good, we'll play dumb, answer the request. Notify them that the satellite is manned - tell them there’s 15 crew aboard doing maintenance.

Amy:

But there's nobody on that unit. If they find out - you’re gonna be cooked.

Capt. Clair:

Yea whatever - I want to see their reaction. Give me every sensor metric you have on that tin can.

Amy:

Message sent - and getting a message back. They’ve acknowledged that the satellite is manned. They are approaching.

Capt. Clair:

Get me a visual…

The bridge monitors spring to life. The satellite's cameras scan the vast expanse of stark endless blue sky all around - and far below, the rippled fields of white clouds, stars, and aurora-borealis stretch like a distant carpet to each horizon.

Amy:

Looks normal - wait, three points starboard, elevation minus two…

At first a black smudge, then quickly a starry black cloud forms. Then a number of rotating funnels form like tentacles, or teeth, around a gaping cruel mouth.

Capt. Clair:

Host ship my ass!

Amy:

No shit - it IS registering as a Host ship - recent high security clearance too...

And this is no Cardinal Cathedral ship either - this is a… this is the digital signature of an Arch Angel - FUCK!

Capt. Clair:

Who? - WHO? - get me who it is…

Amy:

Gone. They destroyed it - even after we TOLD them - and they acknowledged - that it was manned…

Capt. Clair:

FUCKERS!

MURDEROUS FUCKERS!

They are chasing a signal - they are chasing some message on the line - look, they sucked up every message they could get their bloody hands on, they’re blasting the ‘News of the Host’ signal to hide the fact they are ripping through everything. They are looking for some message, they are chasing and trying to destroy something big.

…Amy - the next satellite - status?

Amy:

Clair... that’s the last one before us. It’s unmanned and, so far, untouched.

Capt. Clair:

Amy, on the Alt frequency, accelerate the flow of messages - pull me everything between those fuckers and us. Buffer the flow, so nothing gets to the next in the chain beyond us. We are gonna get what those bastards are looking for - and take it down with us if we have to.

Amy:

Clair, if we pull the line - it will be obvious, that process will have our station's signature all over it.

Capt. Clair:

At this point, beautiful, it’s…

Amy:

…no return - gotcha. Let’s get those fuckers back.

Suddenly a humming shudder resounded through the ship. Amy flicked a few controls and pointed to one of the panels. “Ether Gyros 1, 2, 3, 4, Fully Operational” blinked on the screen.

Clair flashes her wry grin and nods.

Capt. Clair:

Get me remote on the last satellite.

Amy:

Done.

Capt. Clair:

This time let’s do evasive manoeuvres with the satellite now - before they manifest and hail the unit. Let’s try to jet the satellite up - straight up - break the line event horizon. Do it now.

Amy:

Engines engaged, it is a smaller unit, gives us an advantage. Full burn, it’s climbing real fast - no way they'll catch it. The bastards are manifesting now - huh - no message sent from them this time - looks like they just want blood…

Capt. Clair:

C’mon little guy…

Amy:

Dead. They got it. I have no idea how they could have done that. And they are still trying to get that message they are chasing... that means…

Capt. Clair:

We’re next…