In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Can’t Drive 55.”
‘Time you straighten right out,’ taken from The Specials cover of the Dandy Livingstone song – Rudy, a message to you.
The time was twenty three hundred hours.
Commander Wilbur grimaced his brow now sweating.
He had tried everything he’d learnt at the Space Corp Academy, he had used every trick in the book. And he’d tried everything he had learnt since leaving the Corp! (which was significantly more) But the Caspian Mega-Triton Chaser was still hot on his tail and not giving up.
‘He’s gaining on us Sir,’ reported Huggins; his faithful second.
‘Damn,’Wilbur scowled. Warp speed, worm holes, sling shots and strings, he had tried everything but still couldn’t shake off this bogey.
‘It’s not looking good Huggins, we’re quickly running out of options, I’m afraid this might be the old girls last dance.’
‘And ours too,’ a winking Huggins interrupted.
‘But not before the music stops,’ Wilbur smiled. ‘There is one last trick we’ve got up our sleeves.’
‘Well use it quick Sir, the Chaser has engaged its Hadron dark matter beam and it’s about to lock-on and collide!’
‘Fuck, right here goes then, Huggins when I say, I want you to shut everything down; everything, reactors, shields, beams and aux power.
But Sir, we’ll be sitting ducks…
‘Not if I apply the space breaks at the same time, Huggins. The bastard will overshoot us and will end up in a co-joining galaxy five centuries before we were even born.’
‘It’s never been done before – we may not survive the inertia shock,’ Huggins protested.
‘Now, now man, do it – NOW!’
The old girl lurched, she vibrated, her skeleton shrieked, her skin caught fire. She started cartwheeling out of control.
‘Damn you, Damn you,’ Wilbur screamed – his hands gripping the helm, struggling to hold on. Using every sinew, every muscle in his body he tried to influence and gain some control of his ship.
Decades of time shot past their port holes, days quickly turning to weeks months, years and centuries.
Still the ship spiraled out of control.
‘Time, time,’ cursed Wilkins – ‘time you straighten right out!’