"Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave
A paradise for a sect; the savage too
From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep
Guesses at Heaven; pity these have not
Trac'd upon vellum or wild Indian leaf
The shadows of melodious utterance."
-John Keats, "The Fall of Hyperion"
A paradise for a sect; the savage too
From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep
Guesses at Heaven; pity these have not
Trac'd upon vellum or wild Indian leaf
The shadows of melodious utterance."
-John Keats, "The Fall of Hyperion"
September 10th, OE 102
Nevada Airspace
Aboard the Prototype "Solarian"

Eliza Kruger forced her focus onto the screen before her, trying to ignore the persistent chattering of her teeth in the cold. The incomplete nature of the vessel was painfully apparent - even now she could hear sections of it rattling treacherously, threatening to break free of the craft entirely - but it was on short notice, and they needed its speed. Bertram's face when she'd demanded it would be forever etched in her memory, and even now DEI technicians hurried about, making last minute preparations.
The one vessel capable of challenging Hyperion, that could reliably intercept the rising attack satellite's path, and prevent System ACE's final activation... The name, she thought, was all too fitting.
The information she'd gleaned from being connected to LIOH, the glimpse she'd gotten at Hyperion's true plan... betting it all, she thought, on what amounted to a dream. Scarcely a year ago, she would never have even considered such a bold course of action...
That, of course, was all thanks to Ana. When all this was over, she thought... They'd have to find some time for themselves. Somewhere... away from the war, where she could sort her feelings out in private. Where she couldn't use work as a distraction, to avoid the hard discussions that seemed so easy for the other woman, but felt like drawing blood from a stone to her. But, they wouldn't know peace... not until Hyperion had been scattered to the winds.
She leaned back in the Captain's chair, and fidgeted with the height adjustment lever for what felt like the hundredth time. Clearly it needed some remodeling, as her feet barely touched the floor.
There wasn't much time left. All that was left now was the final checks. She picked up the improvised communicator, holding its bulky frame against the side of her head as she thumbed the line leading to the hangar:
"It's almost showtime. Everyone ready to go?"