Kaenei
10-02-2006, 06:33
(OOC: Continuing the events of The End Justifies the Means (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=410505), featuring the same duo.)
The room was poorly lit internally, with the expansive bay windows covering three hundred and sixty degrees of view contributing to the semi-darkness by virtue of the inky blackness beyond. Only the partially coherent twinkling of stars already burnt to nothing by the time their light had reached the unimpressive destination of the third world from Sol’s younger reach.
Complimenting the natural starscape and calling the neutrality of the structure into question, an eerie green glow spread forth from the rows of monitors mounted in a circular pattern about the expansive room, broken into two halves separated by means to exit the consoles set downwards into a sub-floor.
“Kae-Sol flight zero seven zero five, ascend and maintain flight level twenty five thousand, Safe Sunset and welcome to Xiana Air Traffic Jurisdiction. Weather conditions for Xiana Province are unremarkable with light wind and are reported to be within ideal nocturnal passenger consideration.”
Completing the transference of the gravliner from its departure zone of Solarri air traffic jurisdiction, the presiding controller raised his head and allowed his concentration to pass beyond the windows ahead to the sky beyond. The red points indicated on his scanner monitor, so disassociated from reality, were impossible to distinguish in the night sky despite each being the not inconsiderable bulk of a laden gravliner.
Professionalism overriding, he turned to regard the sparse contacts within his control—mostly inbound to the ever-bustling International Gravport of Solarri, with the exception of his last conversation piece, flight zero seven zero five on course to the Northern Territories.
“Xiana control from Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, flight level twenty four thousand confirmed and acknowledged, heading as standard. Clear skies from current vantage point, weather report logged for later review—Safe Sunset also, Kae-Sol zero seven zero five out.”
Bringing his attention to the immediate surroundings of the cockpit, Flight-Coordinator Miyzeu released a single hand from its previous post upon the flight column, sending it without hesitation amidst the dizzying expanse of control interfaces and consoles to the public announcement system, and the two-tone ring that sounded its activation.
“Passengers please be aware we are now at optimum cruising altitude,” he began. “Your restraints may be removed to aide comfort or other necessities, however please be advised that keeping said restraints closed during flight will protect against unexpected turbulence. We have now entered Xiana Province, and our estimated flight time to the Northern Territories is estimated at one hour—weather conditions are optimal and our destination Gravport reports no outstanding delays.”
Sat aside the captaining Kaeneian, First Flight-Adept Caniserez completed the short sequence of inputs necessary to pass full control of the gravliner soaring about them to seniority, pausing for the few seconds it took for his control column to recede the ten inches that granted the second-in-command enough clearance to leave his seat.
“Secondary control interface disengaged,” announced the craft itself, ever present and monitoring the constant and necessary changes that befell an act as complex as ignoring the fundamental laws of gravity.
“Refreshment?” Caniserez asked, completing the security formalities that allowed him exit to the cockpit, and access to the bulk of the gravliner that lay ahead of them. The construction of the craft led to the peculiarity of being a considerable distance from the passengers they were charged with; the flight deck existing in an entirely isolated section above and beyond the rearmost passenger sections and well inside the cavernous cargo bays.
His attention primarily concerned with the adjustment of the throttle, his senior simply shook his head, no further communication evident bar the upwards motion of a hand to switches mounted ceiling-side, and quickly manipulated. Outside this centre of technological activity and the limited windscreen ahead, the stretching body of the Air Kaenei gravliner continued before the cockpit, tapering to a sharp point.
Early models of this particular series had been met with uncertainty by his seniors now long retired or otherwise indisposed—that taking the pilot from the foremost point on the plane and relegating him to the rear, to the point where even the wings themselves were further still behind whilst the entirety of the three passenger decks continued beyond, was unnatural and even reckless.
As he descended the spiral staircase, Caniserez felt this line of thought incorrect—the feeling of being able to watch the bulk of the craft he piloted, rather than face the unexpected to the rear and feel powerless assisted his piloting, supposing his predecessors still held new and untested technologies in their hands.
He relegated the monotone to the oblivion many other such one-sided conversations had ended up; upon the countless short-haul flights he had both overseen and in turn assisted with. Whilst technology could be relied upon to pilot effectively, it did little to mentally stimulate and at thirty thousand feet there was little he could do to change it.
The thrum chose to assault her ears firstly; reverberating, rumbling, and possessing a power though fierce in turn checked and further controlled by the fiercest environment beyond. Where the endless fields of ice and frozen tundra beneath were quiet in their lethal silence, here the same could not be said even if one accepted the artificiality that prevented freefall and certain death.
Rolling her head from left shoulder to right, eyes fluttered open to regard unimposing grey interior. Though pained and blurry the unobtrusive colouring aided the focusing, and slowly normalcy returned to the senses. Flexing numb fingers upon poorly motivated wrists, she settled her gaze on the slumped and slumbering form to her right.
“Ashan …” she whispered, surprised by the grogginess evident in her own raw voice. When no answer was forthcoming, she nudged the silent Kaeneian companion only to receive a murmured nothing in reply. Judging the situation to demand it, she delivered a hard, if hardly well-placed elbow to exposed side.
The previously serene figure bolted upright, hand to his impacted side before true consciousness returned, moaning forth at the unpleasantness and attracting looks best described as bemused from those so unaccustomed to emotional outburst.
“I was dreaming of you,” he replied wearily, rubbing his injury with more vigour than the impact deserved. “You were far more pleasant in the recesses of my imagination than in the seat next to mine—how cruelly I am dashed.”
Sitting up, he seemed to take stock of the immediate situation, “Mariana, we are flying.”
She nodded, rolling her eyes only slightly at his machinations, restraining her reply until such time as the aisle became clear of the passing stewardess. “Your powers of deduction are not dulled by fatigue I see, but you are correct. I’m not sure how long we’ve been in the air; however this is not a long-range gravliner—our destination cannot be far beyond Solarri Province.”
“This flight is operated by Air Kaenei—I would have thought the agents of the Aengelistoria Dominica would choose more privacy for our transport, which suggests we are not joined by many of our persuasion. Perhaps it shall be possible to slip within the crowd at our destination. We may yet evade the Intelligence Directorate enough to return home.”
“We are observed more than you know, were we to flee duty-bound citizens would simply hold us,” Mariana sighed, turning her wrist over to reveal the paler flesh upon and the relatively fresh scar imprinted upon the alabaster tone. “A sub-dermal transmitter most likely, and to the rows in front and behind, agents of the Directorate whom I believe are not also aboard for the thrill of flying.”
Ashan glanced first at his wrist to locate the identical scar and then to the rear, drawing eye contact with the individual directly behind for only as long as the latter tolerated his intrusion, before continuing to regard the data node held on his lap. Turning back, Ashan nodded to Mariana. “Then there seems little recourse but to wait for what fate in turn awaits us.”
The Kaeneian female did not acknowledge the foreboding advice, instead turning to direct her gaze beyond the window to the thinning clouds of the sub-arctic. Only the heated pane beyond prevented the constant condensation from overpowering any hope of view. Undoubtedly beneath the cloud layer the land was besieged once more by endless snow, and though it seemed her travel was destined not for leisure, she enjoyed the still weather which stood as such a stark change to the ever-winter of the Serene^Union.
“Xiana control from Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, climbing to flight level twenty eight thousand confirmed and acknowledged, heading as standard, Kae-Sol zero seven zero five out.”
Miyzeu adjusted the headset which had now returned to inactivity, adjusting the band which flattened his hair to the side irritatingly. Pausing to record the field strength of the gravitic generators, the Flight-Overseer did not turn to address his returning deputy, instead gazing outwards by courtesy of the small starboard window nearest.
“Are you on-crew to the Northern Territories tomorrow?” He asked, returning both hands to the steering column which moved little in his experienced and well versed hands.
Caniserez replaced his drink within the holder so designed to his left, reactivating the control column which had previously been withdrawn to be almost flush with the console housing. Laying one hand upon it until the column had returned to flight worthy position, he shook his head.
“My schedule carries me to Byzantineri and time permitting possibly Fortuna—I find navigating the mountains of the latter tiring however, and it is unlikely I will be in a restful state of mind to serve upon the route if the Solarri-Byzantineri proves troublesome.”
Miyzeu did not receive a chance to share with his First Flight-Adept his own schedule, interrupted as he was mid-thought by the horrendous thundering of a force applied from the abnormal, causing the restraints that kept him securely within his seat to tighten painfully in their duty to retain their occupant upright. From somewhere within the bank of control runes ahead, a number turned from a pleasing green to attention-inducing red, accompanied as they were by the whooping of an alarm.
“Master alarm—gravitic field fluctuating beyond acceptable tolerance.”
Caniserez was forced to leave questioning the incident aloud to his superior, struggling as he was greatly with the sudden refusal of his control column to cooperate with his tightening grip. The vibrations felt through it so fierce as to mimic the stall-warning indicator installed and intended to force such wild oscillations from the column. From the corner of his right eye, his consciousness duly noted further banks of runes turning to angry red.
“Number two gravitic field generator is unresponsive,” he noted aloud, daring not to free a hand long enough to rescue his shoulder pinned painfully against the straps in a shape not intended by the designer or the occupant. “Number one field generator has failed additionally.”
“Master alarm—gravitic field fluctuating beyond acceptable tolerance.”
Miyzeu grunted audibly as his bodyweight was crushed against the chair, as the entirety of his being was forcibly distorted by the sudden banking of the gravliner. Wrestling with the column in the opposite direction he extolled as much from the starboard engines as possible, not allowing his gaze to turn from his task even as a second alarm blared, recognising it as an engine out alert.
“We have lost number three engine,” he confirmed, “Alongside number one and two gravitic field generators. Systems on the starboard wing assembly are compromised, I am having trouble retaining aileron and flap control.”
“Bank angle, bank angle,” warned the relevant safety system as the gravliner’s turn became increasingly acute and consequently dangerous.
“Standby,” Caniserez added, reaching over and initiating an auxiliary monitor to his left. Composed, if speedy adjustment through options quickly heralded the relevant view of the exterior sensor pods, and the cause of the incident in question.
Where before had stood the entirety of the starboard wing assembly—engines, gravitic field generators, flaps and ailerons therein, now the terminating edge ended not smoothly but in a jagged and charred semi-circle of destruction from which serpentine flame licked forth at the intact, though blackened sections surrounding. The remains of engine number four hung beneath the gathering inferno uselessly, acting as little more than a further aerodynamic hindrance. The splayed edges of the aileron and flap manipulators were obvious and impotent, now there remained little in the way of the former or latter to deploy or alter.
Miyzeu observed the screen, and instantly dismissed the ramifications of what he may, or may not have been witness to, relying upon his professionalism and detachment. “Do we have full control over engine number three?”
“It is responding normally,” he replied. “Nominal fuel flow and thrust—damage appears confined to the outer portion of the starboard wing assembly. However we are operating on only two gravitic field emitters and two engines—shall I declare an emergency?”
The Flight-Overseer simply nodded, devoting the entirety of his strength to resist the urge of the gravliner to bank beyond any hope of survival or aeronautical design. He spared simply a moment to gaze ahead at the body of the gravliner ahead, and the four hundred Kaeneians aboard relying on but two of their number to avert disaster.
Mariana gripped the armrests tightly as the shuddering vibrated through clenched fingertips, causing teeth to chatter were her jaw not held tightly shut to prevent it. Glancing outwards she noticed with growing alarm the spreading white of the tundra beneath below the rapidly disappearing horizon. Turning to her companion she grimaced at the increasing turbulence.
“The gravliner is damaged; I don’t believe we can retain flight for much longer. At least we shall not endure until the end of our days within a Directorate-sponsored isolation colony. Better to perish amidst the frozen wastes of the north.”
“Better not to perish at all,” Ashan replied. “I’ll maintain our chances of survival until I awake to pick myself free of the wreckage, or meet Adria herself in the next life. Either way will not see me end all that I have seen here.”
Though he could not see it, Ashan’s mention of Aria aloud drew several prolonged stares even amidst the chaos of the juddering cabin; such was the scarcity that a follower of Celestialism professed their faith or discussed it so freely amidst peers. From the row behind, one of the silent occupants leaned forwards, satisfying himself that their restraints were still fastened closed.
Although impeccable training and experience remained in reserve and capable of guiding him through the entirety of the developing situation, what stood displayed upon his scanning monitor demanded confirmation to remove any trace of doubt, “Please repeat Kae-Sol zero seven zero five.”
“Xiana control from Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, we are declaring an emergency repeat, emergency. Unknown explosive damage; aileron and flap function impaired, two engines have failed and two gravitic field generators are non-responsive.”
“You have priority to approach the field,” the controller responded, pulling out the necessary data node beneath. “Descend to flight level eighteen thousand and keep advised, full emergency procedures are in effect and every service is at your disposal.”
Filing the bureaucracy necessary even in an emergency, the controller stood, retrieving the night-vision binoculars located upon an inactive console adjacent, and climbing the short staircase that led to the upper level, composed as it was in its entirety by sweeping glass. As his calculations and the obvious confirmed, there was no sign of the struggling gravliner—invisible as it was against the night sky, and its accompanying chorus of twinkling points.
Caniserez would have sighed in frustration, had such an act in itself not been as shocking as the bizarre though threatening situation they now found themselves in, as another bank of indicators declined the relative serenity intoned by their previous sea of green. Casting his eyes towards the altimeter and its steadily decreasing figure, he pondered the seriousness of their situation.
Continuing to exert his full strength simply to keep their banking angle within the realms of the non-suicidal, he spoke for the altimeter. “Flight level now fifteen thousand and falling, we do not have sufficient thrust to maintain our altitude—the wing damage has compromised our glide factor, I do not believe we can reach the field.”
“I concur,” Miyzeu replied. “Our power situation is critical additionally, and I do not believe we have sufficient reserves to maintain a functional gravitic field. It seems we have two options; proceed with our course, dealing with increasing height loss, in the hope our gravitic field continues to function on only two generators, does not fail and that we reach the field. Alternatively whilst we still enjoy some method of slowing our speed to survivable levels, attempt a crash landing.”
“If we overload the remaining generators, it may be possible to increase the field strength to temporarily overcome the two generators we have lost and make a forced landing upon the ice survivable.”
The Flight-Overseer nodded, before turning his attention to the orange indicator rune flickering ominously above the starboard wing landing gear. “Failure indicator, starboard landing gear assembly—the damage to the wing may be considerably more than it appears. If we have suffered structural impeachment, then landing may shear apart the gravcraft.”
Caniserez checked his own readouts, confirming the possible malfunction, “We have no choice then but to land upon the ice and rely on the gravitic field to render the landing survivable. I shall inform the passengers and crew, after Xiana Control has understood our situation and made clear on our course of action.”
Though his fingertips moved independently from any conscious movement, their end task was more complicated than the simple acknowledgement made through voice. Helplessness though powerful was beaten back by the existence of hope that the rapidly spiralling situation to which the entirety of the Gravport surrounding could not aid, might still come to an end that promised a new beginning. Setting about the sensors of the facility, he orchestrated happenings so that the failure of the damaged Gravliner’s transponder would send its last known position and projected termination path back to both his station and the relevant search and rescue authorities.
Signing off, he observed the snowfall, which began anew and quickly covered the slightest hint of bare metal beneath the behemoth tower he resided within. Internally he chose to believe the stretching tundra beyond the Gravport’s boundaries might be equally flat, welcoming and above all not the final resting place of four hundred souls.
Ashan glanced nervously first to the window, then to the woman occupying its presiding seat. Despite the intricacies of flight, aerodynamics and the finer points of aeronautical engineering being beyond him, their alarming bank to the point of loss of horizon, coupled with their obviously harsh descent did not fill him with confidence regarding their landing, if indeed their was to be one of any kind.
“We may not survive long enough to attempt a landing,” he mused whilst moving his left arm to the seat rest. “Perhaps we’ll remain intact enough to attempt it ourselves, although the odds of surviving the attempt minus our gravliner aren’t particularly appealing.”
Mariana, distracted slightly by events unfolding nonetheless took the uncertainty on display, and brought her hand to his, wrapping lithe fingertips in uncertain partners. “Though we may not see another Sunrise, it is memorable that we will fail to live out our Sunset with each other—our journey may come to an end on this third world of Sol, but our time together has not.”
Ashan smiled, and attracted only the stares of his ‘minders’ in front and rear, gripping the proffered hand eagerly. “Then it is a final gift of Adria that we spend what may be our first end with each other, as we had dreamed of earlier, though at the time what we thought would be far later.”
He had intended to say more, to describe his love, his wonder and the dashed hopes that would be sated by their final moments together. To describe how he felt for Mariana and of the children he hoped would in turn think of him kindly once they were brought forth. As the best laid plans are put to waste, so was his carefully planned dialogue, as the lips of the object of his affections hushed his fevered mind.
The gravcraft, which itself had bar choice statements of warning and alert remained remarkably silent for the injury and effects laid upon it, chose once more to voice its concern. As always of few words though demanding of attention in deliverance; “Sink rate, sink rate.”
Struggling to be heard above the roaring din of engines operating at full power, Miyzeu was reduced to a controlled roar. “Flight level now eleven thousand and falling, prepare to pull back throttle on my mark—maximum power to gravitic field generators at engine idle.”
One eye upon the artificial horizon indicator, the other on the angle of the flight column pushed forward, the Flight-Overseer nodded, “Mark.”
Immediately the roaring thrum diminished somewhat as the junior Kaeneian pulled back upon the throttle levers, only for the slight respite to be pierced by a high-pitched wailing, as the remaining gravitic field generators were forced beyond their recommended tolerances. All the while the fields of white beneath loomed, as the snowfall beneath cloud layer grew more courageous in its attempt to stick to the craft as wind speed fell incrementally.
“Descend landing gear,” Miyzeu ordered, silencing a fresh bank of warning indicators. Shuddering increasing to the point of drowning out all else, Caniserez took a moment to react, striking the necessary runes without a hesitation.
“Gear deployment failure, check starboard bank.”
“Negative deployment on starboard wing,” Caniserez confirmed, quieting the gravliner’s stark warning one repetition in. “Nose and port deployment confirmed—no manual confirmation.”
There was no comment from the commanding officer, as the violent skewing of course became so pronounced that to utter much was to distract and steal vital strength required to keep the gravliner’s insatiable desire to veer left to disaster at bay. So close to impact was the craft now that before, where the fields of white seemed featureless and flat, foreboding spires of splintered black rock, and frozen dunes of ice were prominent.
The two-tone whooping all too familiar to the beleaguered flight crew sounded once more, carrying the sternest indicator of disaster yet issued; “Too low—gear, too low—gear.”
“Flight level now four thousand and falling, alert the cabin to prepare for crash positions.”
Caniserez nodded at the Flight-Overseer’s order, flicking the public announcement channel on effortlessly, considering the energy extolled upon his flight column moments before and partially continued with a single hand; “All personnel, brace for crash positions, brace for crash positions.”
Landing gear visible, the gravliner seemed perfectly prepared for textbook landing though only the most naive could ignore the telltale and imminent signs of disaster chosen from intensive wing damage, incomplete gear deployment or lack of landing surface—but one of any sufficient to end any hope of a survivable impact.
As though fingertips reaching to ensnare the craft, talons of rock jutted from the permafrost; missing by scant feet and cursing silently their failure to seize a portion of carnage for themselves. As the height of the immense and gravely injured crash diminished, one of the inanimate scavengers succeeded in their desperate lunge, stabbing agonisingly into the already fractured starboard wing, and shattering amidst a cacophony of tearing metal and shredding electronics.
“Too low—gear, too low—gear.”
Already impossibly unbalanced, the starboard wing rose dramatically to the point of being in danger of causing the entire superstructure to flip over—only the frantic and harsh wrenching of steering columns and operable flaps maintaining the precarious balance. Offering their absolute best, speed brakes deployed from what part of the wings survived to function, forming a barrier and deflecting the cruel arctic winds back from whence the doomed craft once came. Assisting the speed brakes, thrust reversers upon operable engines fired also, directing their scathing thrust to braking rather than previously precious thrust.
“Too low—gear, too low—gear.”
Alas the laws of physics, the thirst of Mother Nature, and the inevitability of the situation pooled their resources to bring about the final instances of impact. Though the wings had taken initial point of attack, their sacrifice merely saved the fuselage temporary respite, as the nose impacted the ice and bounced back into the air.
As the nose pitched upwards in a cruel mockery of take-off position, the starboard wing finally broke free from its tortured superstructure, decapitating a grasping spire of ice in a final act of mindless retribution, and sending the tail down into the snow and rock from whence it could not return.
Finally liberated from the burden of expectation, the rest of the gravliner fell heavily, the heat of still-firing engines superheating the surrounding snow first to slush, and then to steam within milliseconds. The outermost engines had merely sufficient time to attack the snow as such, before being wrenched from their pylons and discarded as artillery might fire a shell and burrow it forth into the mud.
Eventually, the pace at which the craft struck was lost, and she came to a rolling halt upon a scene as identical in random clumps of ice, and rolling hills of snow as that point the crash first occurred. The path of crushed destruction left behind already being soothed by the ever-falling clouds of snow, putting silence to the simmering funnels of steam rising forth.
“Xiana Control to Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, status and condition check.”
The partner to the howling gales out with the slightly warmed chamber was not forthcoming, and elected to keep the controller in a state of continuous waiting. The continuously updating scanner duly failed to retain the blue-tinged symbol that had previously marked the location of the errant gravliner, forcing the presiding Kaeneian to rely upon the transmitter which held no such guarantees of reliability, or success.
“Xiana Control to Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, status and condition check.”
Satisfied that no response could be forthcoming, preparations began to initiate the hazardous search and rescue demanded and require of the authorities, with calls for aid being returned in the positive from the nearest Defence Terra bases, and on-field emergency services. Sitting back upon the chair, he forced the feeling of helplessness to dismiss, logic remind him of the impossibility of his being contributing to the success, or failure of the recovery bid—supposing that faith, if any should be best applied to the Kaeneians charged with sifting through the freezing wastes of the north.
Mariana did not chose to stir, but was instead chosen to wake, wincing as the howling wind tore across her features and stung forth the crimson that had emerged from the considerable cut upon her left temple. Bringing a hand crudely to her forehead, she groaned as the slickness of the wound passed between pressed fingertips. Taking a moment to steady her gaze, she observed the slumped form of Ashan, immediately reaching for him and overestimating her own consciousness.
“Adria is a fickle mistress,” the previously still Kaeneian announced, slowly righting himself to sitting. “I can accept her decision to see us continue our cycle, but I would have preferred a little more comfort to the harshness of denying paradise.”
On this occasion, Mariana allowed her eyes the freedom of to roll, allowing it further to hide her intense relief at their survival, and apparent escape from serious injury. Taking a moment finally to regard her situation, she saw others had not been so fortunate.
The fuselage ended abruptly almost upon Mariana’s row, a tear of some two feet in diameter widening until it spilled upon the ceiling and almost succeeded in sheering the nose sections in two. Of the window frames still intact only one in her view was intact, already rendered useless to gaze through by the vast snow upended by the impact trauma. Through the broken ceiling, snow fell and already cast a white pall upon the aisle—the occasional still hand piercing the freezing blanket.
Ashan looked back to the row behind, and the row ahead, noting their remarkable stillness. Acting quickly, he wrenched free the twisted and tortured restraints that had so dutifully protected him and without explaining to a curious Mariana, eliminated her own. Testing his weary legs and finding nothing more than bruises, he motioned with haste.
Climbing into the aisle, he disappeared ahead pausing only to check upon the occasional dull moan, and twitching limb. Mariana hauled herself up likewise, electing to remain behind until her motivated partner returned with an explanation.
Return he did, though suitably more laden than before. Upon his back an unremarkable, if heavy backpack sat, whilst another of the same type hung from his arm. Underneath his free arm, a tightly wrapped bright orange cylinder of some five foot in length was held snugly. Throwing the pack to Mariana’s feet, he nodded. “We must flee now, to the Northern Territories; the next city; to oblivion or else our end, but we cannot remain here. An opportunity has been thrown to us, and even for all the adversity it may promise, it is a better hope than to await rescue to the fate our current journey had guaranteed us.”
Hauling the heavy supplies to her shoulders and wincing, Mariana followed silently, carefully avoiding any prone limbs or worse, silenced bodies. Pausing before the largest of the hull ruptures, she paused only long enough to regard the chaotic scene behind, and the least sharp edges, before ungainly forcing a path through. Already their ‘minders’ stirred, with only good fortune delaying their waking until now, and said fortune rapidly disappearing.
Regarding the wind as it caressed her cheek with an icicle-laden caress, she settled upon looking forwards, not back. Despite their eviction from Solarri, their absorption into the unknown and entirely unwilling participation in the machinations of the Intelligence Directorate, all was not lost. What remained from all however, would be found amidst the even more profound isolation and loneliness of the Northern Territories ahead.
The room was poorly lit internally, with the expansive bay windows covering three hundred and sixty degrees of view contributing to the semi-darkness by virtue of the inky blackness beyond. Only the partially coherent twinkling of stars already burnt to nothing by the time their light had reached the unimpressive destination of the third world from Sol’s younger reach.
Complimenting the natural starscape and calling the neutrality of the structure into question, an eerie green glow spread forth from the rows of monitors mounted in a circular pattern about the expansive room, broken into two halves separated by means to exit the consoles set downwards into a sub-floor.
“Kae-Sol flight zero seven zero five, ascend and maintain flight level twenty five thousand, Safe Sunset and welcome to Xiana Air Traffic Jurisdiction. Weather conditions for Xiana Province are unremarkable with light wind and are reported to be within ideal nocturnal passenger consideration.”
Completing the transference of the gravliner from its departure zone of Solarri air traffic jurisdiction, the presiding controller raised his head and allowed his concentration to pass beyond the windows ahead to the sky beyond. The red points indicated on his scanner monitor, so disassociated from reality, were impossible to distinguish in the night sky despite each being the not inconsiderable bulk of a laden gravliner.
Professionalism overriding, he turned to regard the sparse contacts within his control—mostly inbound to the ever-bustling International Gravport of Solarri, with the exception of his last conversation piece, flight zero seven zero five on course to the Northern Territories.
“Xiana control from Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, flight level twenty four thousand confirmed and acknowledged, heading as standard. Clear skies from current vantage point, weather report logged for later review—Safe Sunset also, Kae-Sol zero seven zero five out.”
Bringing his attention to the immediate surroundings of the cockpit, Flight-Coordinator Miyzeu released a single hand from its previous post upon the flight column, sending it without hesitation amidst the dizzying expanse of control interfaces and consoles to the public announcement system, and the two-tone ring that sounded its activation.
“Passengers please be aware we are now at optimum cruising altitude,” he began. “Your restraints may be removed to aide comfort or other necessities, however please be advised that keeping said restraints closed during flight will protect against unexpected turbulence. We have now entered Xiana Province, and our estimated flight time to the Northern Territories is estimated at one hour—weather conditions are optimal and our destination Gravport reports no outstanding delays.”
Sat aside the captaining Kaeneian, First Flight-Adept Caniserez completed the short sequence of inputs necessary to pass full control of the gravliner soaring about them to seniority, pausing for the few seconds it took for his control column to recede the ten inches that granted the second-in-command enough clearance to leave his seat.
“Secondary control interface disengaged,” announced the craft itself, ever present and monitoring the constant and necessary changes that befell an act as complex as ignoring the fundamental laws of gravity.
“Refreshment?” Caniserez asked, completing the security formalities that allowed him exit to the cockpit, and access to the bulk of the gravliner that lay ahead of them. The construction of the craft led to the peculiarity of being a considerable distance from the passengers they were charged with; the flight deck existing in an entirely isolated section above and beyond the rearmost passenger sections and well inside the cavernous cargo bays.
His attention primarily concerned with the adjustment of the throttle, his senior simply shook his head, no further communication evident bar the upwards motion of a hand to switches mounted ceiling-side, and quickly manipulated. Outside this centre of technological activity and the limited windscreen ahead, the stretching body of the Air Kaenei gravliner continued before the cockpit, tapering to a sharp point.
Early models of this particular series had been met with uncertainty by his seniors now long retired or otherwise indisposed—that taking the pilot from the foremost point on the plane and relegating him to the rear, to the point where even the wings themselves were further still behind whilst the entirety of the three passenger decks continued beyond, was unnatural and even reckless.
As he descended the spiral staircase, Caniserez felt this line of thought incorrect—the feeling of being able to watch the bulk of the craft he piloted, rather than face the unexpected to the rear and feel powerless assisted his piloting, supposing his predecessors still held new and untested technologies in their hands.
He relegated the monotone to the oblivion many other such one-sided conversations had ended up; upon the countless short-haul flights he had both overseen and in turn assisted with. Whilst technology could be relied upon to pilot effectively, it did little to mentally stimulate and at thirty thousand feet there was little he could do to change it.
The thrum chose to assault her ears firstly; reverberating, rumbling, and possessing a power though fierce in turn checked and further controlled by the fiercest environment beyond. Where the endless fields of ice and frozen tundra beneath were quiet in their lethal silence, here the same could not be said even if one accepted the artificiality that prevented freefall and certain death.
Rolling her head from left shoulder to right, eyes fluttered open to regard unimposing grey interior. Though pained and blurry the unobtrusive colouring aided the focusing, and slowly normalcy returned to the senses. Flexing numb fingers upon poorly motivated wrists, she settled her gaze on the slumped and slumbering form to her right.
“Ashan …” she whispered, surprised by the grogginess evident in her own raw voice. When no answer was forthcoming, she nudged the silent Kaeneian companion only to receive a murmured nothing in reply. Judging the situation to demand it, she delivered a hard, if hardly well-placed elbow to exposed side.
The previously serene figure bolted upright, hand to his impacted side before true consciousness returned, moaning forth at the unpleasantness and attracting looks best described as bemused from those so unaccustomed to emotional outburst.
“I was dreaming of you,” he replied wearily, rubbing his injury with more vigour than the impact deserved. “You were far more pleasant in the recesses of my imagination than in the seat next to mine—how cruelly I am dashed.”
Sitting up, he seemed to take stock of the immediate situation, “Mariana, we are flying.”
She nodded, rolling her eyes only slightly at his machinations, restraining her reply until such time as the aisle became clear of the passing stewardess. “Your powers of deduction are not dulled by fatigue I see, but you are correct. I’m not sure how long we’ve been in the air; however this is not a long-range gravliner—our destination cannot be far beyond Solarri Province.”
“This flight is operated by Air Kaenei—I would have thought the agents of the Aengelistoria Dominica would choose more privacy for our transport, which suggests we are not joined by many of our persuasion. Perhaps it shall be possible to slip within the crowd at our destination. We may yet evade the Intelligence Directorate enough to return home.”
“We are observed more than you know, were we to flee duty-bound citizens would simply hold us,” Mariana sighed, turning her wrist over to reveal the paler flesh upon and the relatively fresh scar imprinted upon the alabaster tone. “A sub-dermal transmitter most likely, and to the rows in front and behind, agents of the Directorate whom I believe are not also aboard for the thrill of flying.”
Ashan glanced first at his wrist to locate the identical scar and then to the rear, drawing eye contact with the individual directly behind for only as long as the latter tolerated his intrusion, before continuing to regard the data node held on his lap. Turning back, Ashan nodded to Mariana. “Then there seems little recourse but to wait for what fate in turn awaits us.”
The Kaeneian female did not acknowledge the foreboding advice, instead turning to direct her gaze beyond the window to the thinning clouds of the sub-arctic. Only the heated pane beyond prevented the constant condensation from overpowering any hope of view. Undoubtedly beneath the cloud layer the land was besieged once more by endless snow, and though it seemed her travel was destined not for leisure, she enjoyed the still weather which stood as such a stark change to the ever-winter of the Serene^Union.
“Xiana control from Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, climbing to flight level twenty eight thousand confirmed and acknowledged, heading as standard, Kae-Sol zero seven zero five out.”
Miyzeu adjusted the headset which had now returned to inactivity, adjusting the band which flattened his hair to the side irritatingly. Pausing to record the field strength of the gravitic generators, the Flight-Overseer did not turn to address his returning deputy, instead gazing outwards by courtesy of the small starboard window nearest.
“Are you on-crew to the Northern Territories tomorrow?” He asked, returning both hands to the steering column which moved little in his experienced and well versed hands.
Caniserez replaced his drink within the holder so designed to his left, reactivating the control column which had previously been withdrawn to be almost flush with the console housing. Laying one hand upon it until the column had returned to flight worthy position, he shook his head.
“My schedule carries me to Byzantineri and time permitting possibly Fortuna—I find navigating the mountains of the latter tiring however, and it is unlikely I will be in a restful state of mind to serve upon the route if the Solarri-Byzantineri proves troublesome.”
Miyzeu did not receive a chance to share with his First Flight-Adept his own schedule, interrupted as he was mid-thought by the horrendous thundering of a force applied from the abnormal, causing the restraints that kept him securely within his seat to tighten painfully in their duty to retain their occupant upright. From somewhere within the bank of control runes ahead, a number turned from a pleasing green to attention-inducing red, accompanied as they were by the whooping of an alarm.
“Master alarm—gravitic field fluctuating beyond acceptable tolerance.”
Caniserez was forced to leave questioning the incident aloud to his superior, struggling as he was greatly with the sudden refusal of his control column to cooperate with his tightening grip. The vibrations felt through it so fierce as to mimic the stall-warning indicator installed and intended to force such wild oscillations from the column. From the corner of his right eye, his consciousness duly noted further banks of runes turning to angry red.
“Number two gravitic field generator is unresponsive,” he noted aloud, daring not to free a hand long enough to rescue his shoulder pinned painfully against the straps in a shape not intended by the designer or the occupant. “Number one field generator has failed additionally.”
“Master alarm—gravitic field fluctuating beyond acceptable tolerance.”
Miyzeu grunted audibly as his bodyweight was crushed against the chair, as the entirety of his being was forcibly distorted by the sudden banking of the gravliner. Wrestling with the column in the opposite direction he extolled as much from the starboard engines as possible, not allowing his gaze to turn from his task even as a second alarm blared, recognising it as an engine out alert.
“We have lost number three engine,” he confirmed, “Alongside number one and two gravitic field generators. Systems on the starboard wing assembly are compromised, I am having trouble retaining aileron and flap control.”
“Bank angle, bank angle,” warned the relevant safety system as the gravliner’s turn became increasingly acute and consequently dangerous.
“Standby,” Caniserez added, reaching over and initiating an auxiliary monitor to his left. Composed, if speedy adjustment through options quickly heralded the relevant view of the exterior sensor pods, and the cause of the incident in question.
Where before had stood the entirety of the starboard wing assembly—engines, gravitic field generators, flaps and ailerons therein, now the terminating edge ended not smoothly but in a jagged and charred semi-circle of destruction from which serpentine flame licked forth at the intact, though blackened sections surrounding. The remains of engine number four hung beneath the gathering inferno uselessly, acting as little more than a further aerodynamic hindrance. The splayed edges of the aileron and flap manipulators were obvious and impotent, now there remained little in the way of the former or latter to deploy or alter.
Miyzeu observed the screen, and instantly dismissed the ramifications of what he may, or may not have been witness to, relying upon his professionalism and detachment. “Do we have full control over engine number three?”
“It is responding normally,” he replied. “Nominal fuel flow and thrust—damage appears confined to the outer portion of the starboard wing assembly. However we are operating on only two gravitic field emitters and two engines—shall I declare an emergency?”
The Flight-Overseer simply nodded, devoting the entirety of his strength to resist the urge of the gravliner to bank beyond any hope of survival or aeronautical design. He spared simply a moment to gaze ahead at the body of the gravliner ahead, and the four hundred Kaeneians aboard relying on but two of their number to avert disaster.
Mariana gripped the armrests tightly as the shuddering vibrated through clenched fingertips, causing teeth to chatter were her jaw not held tightly shut to prevent it. Glancing outwards she noticed with growing alarm the spreading white of the tundra beneath below the rapidly disappearing horizon. Turning to her companion she grimaced at the increasing turbulence.
“The gravliner is damaged; I don’t believe we can retain flight for much longer. At least we shall not endure until the end of our days within a Directorate-sponsored isolation colony. Better to perish amidst the frozen wastes of the north.”
“Better not to perish at all,” Ashan replied. “I’ll maintain our chances of survival until I awake to pick myself free of the wreckage, or meet Adria herself in the next life. Either way will not see me end all that I have seen here.”
Though he could not see it, Ashan’s mention of Aria aloud drew several prolonged stares even amidst the chaos of the juddering cabin; such was the scarcity that a follower of Celestialism professed their faith or discussed it so freely amidst peers. From the row behind, one of the silent occupants leaned forwards, satisfying himself that their restraints were still fastened closed.
Although impeccable training and experience remained in reserve and capable of guiding him through the entirety of the developing situation, what stood displayed upon his scanning monitor demanded confirmation to remove any trace of doubt, “Please repeat Kae-Sol zero seven zero five.”
“Xiana control from Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, we are declaring an emergency repeat, emergency. Unknown explosive damage; aileron and flap function impaired, two engines have failed and two gravitic field generators are non-responsive.”
“You have priority to approach the field,” the controller responded, pulling out the necessary data node beneath. “Descend to flight level eighteen thousand and keep advised, full emergency procedures are in effect and every service is at your disposal.”
Filing the bureaucracy necessary even in an emergency, the controller stood, retrieving the night-vision binoculars located upon an inactive console adjacent, and climbing the short staircase that led to the upper level, composed as it was in its entirety by sweeping glass. As his calculations and the obvious confirmed, there was no sign of the struggling gravliner—invisible as it was against the night sky, and its accompanying chorus of twinkling points.
Caniserez would have sighed in frustration, had such an act in itself not been as shocking as the bizarre though threatening situation they now found themselves in, as another bank of indicators declined the relative serenity intoned by their previous sea of green. Casting his eyes towards the altimeter and its steadily decreasing figure, he pondered the seriousness of their situation.
Continuing to exert his full strength simply to keep their banking angle within the realms of the non-suicidal, he spoke for the altimeter. “Flight level now fifteen thousand and falling, we do not have sufficient thrust to maintain our altitude—the wing damage has compromised our glide factor, I do not believe we can reach the field.”
“I concur,” Miyzeu replied. “Our power situation is critical additionally, and I do not believe we have sufficient reserves to maintain a functional gravitic field. It seems we have two options; proceed with our course, dealing with increasing height loss, in the hope our gravitic field continues to function on only two generators, does not fail and that we reach the field. Alternatively whilst we still enjoy some method of slowing our speed to survivable levels, attempt a crash landing.”
“If we overload the remaining generators, it may be possible to increase the field strength to temporarily overcome the two generators we have lost and make a forced landing upon the ice survivable.”
The Flight-Overseer nodded, before turning his attention to the orange indicator rune flickering ominously above the starboard wing landing gear. “Failure indicator, starboard landing gear assembly—the damage to the wing may be considerably more than it appears. If we have suffered structural impeachment, then landing may shear apart the gravcraft.”
Caniserez checked his own readouts, confirming the possible malfunction, “We have no choice then but to land upon the ice and rely on the gravitic field to render the landing survivable. I shall inform the passengers and crew, after Xiana Control has understood our situation and made clear on our course of action.”
Though his fingertips moved independently from any conscious movement, their end task was more complicated than the simple acknowledgement made through voice. Helplessness though powerful was beaten back by the existence of hope that the rapidly spiralling situation to which the entirety of the Gravport surrounding could not aid, might still come to an end that promised a new beginning. Setting about the sensors of the facility, he orchestrated happenings so that the failure of the damaged Gravliner’s transponder would send its last known position and projected termination path back to both his station and the relevant search and rescue authorities.
Signing off, he observed the snowfall, which began anew and quickly covered the slightest hint of bare metal beneath the behemoth tower he resided within. Internally he chose to believe the stretching tundra beyond the Gravport’s boundaries might be equally flat, welcoming and above all not the final resting place of four hundred souls.
Ashan glanced nervously first to the window, then to the woman occupying its presiding seat. Despite the intricacies of flight, aerodynamics and the finer points of aeronautical engineering being beyond him, their alarming bank to the point of loss of horizon, coupled with their obviously harsh descent did not fill him with confidence regarding their landing, if indeed their was to be one of any kind.
“We may not survive long enough to attempt a landing,” he mused whilst moving his left arm to the seat rest. “Perhaps we’ll remain intact enough to attempt it ourselves, although the odds of surviving the attempt minus our gravliner aren’t particularly appealing.”
Mariana, distracted slightly by events unfolding nonetheless took the uncertainty on display, and brought her hand to his, wrapping lithe fingertips in uncertain partners. “Though we may not see another Sunrise, it is memorable that we will fail to live out our Sunset with each other—our journey may come to an end on this third world of Sol, but our time together has not.”
Ashan smiled, and attracted only the stares of his ‘minders’ in front and rear, gripping the proffered hand eagerly. “Then it is a final gift of Adria that we spend what may be our first end with each other, as we had dreamed of earlier, though at the time what we thought would be far later.”
He had intended to say more, to describe his love, his wonder and the dashed hopes that would be sated by their final moments together. To describe how he felt for Mariana and of the children he hoped would in turn think of him kindly once they were brought forth. As the best laid plans are put to waste, so was his carefully planned dialogue, as the lips of the object of his affections hushed his fevered mind.
The gravcraft, which itself had bar choice statements of warning and alert remained remarkably silent for the injury and effects laid upon it, chose once more to voice its concern. As always of few words though demanding of attention in deliverance; “Sink rate, sink rate.”
Struggling to be heard above the roaring din of engines operating at full power, Miyzeu was reduced to a controlled roar. “Flight level now eleven thousand and falling, prepare to pull back throttle on my mark—maximum power to gravitic field generators at engine idle.”
One eye upon the artificial horizon indicator, the other on the angle of the flight column pushed forward, the Flight-Overseer nodded, “Mark.”
Immediately the roaring thrum diminished somewhat as the junior Kaeneian pulled back upon the throttle levers, only for the slight respite to be pierced by a high-pitched wailing, as the remaining gravitic field generators were forced beyond their recommended tolerances. All the while the fields of white beneath loomed, as the snowfall beneath cloud layer grew more courageous in its attempt to stick to the craft as wind speed fell incrementally.
“Descend landing gear,” Miyzeu ordered, silencing a fresh bank of warning indicators. Shuddering increasing to the point of drowning out all else, Caniserez took a moment to react, striking the necessary runes without a hesitation.
“Gear deployment failure, check starboard bank.”
“Negative deployment on starboard wing,” Caniserez confirmed, quieting the gravliner’s stark warning one repetition in. “Nose and port deployment confirmed—no manual confirmation.”
There was no comment from the commanding officer, as the violent skewing of course became so pronounced that to utter much was to distract and steal vital strength required to keep the gravliner’s insatiable desire to veer left to disaster at bay. So close to impact was the craft now that before, where the fields of white seemed featureless and flat, foreboding spires of splintered black rock, and frozen dunes of ice were prominent.
The two-tone whooping all too familiar to the beleaguered flight crew sounded once more, carrying the sternest indicator of disaster yet issued; “Too low—gear, too low—gear.”
“Flight level now four thousand and falling, alert the cabin to prepare for crash positions.”
Caniserez nodded at the Flight-Overseer’s order, flicking the public announcement channel on effortlessly, considering the energy extolled upon his flight column moments before and partially continued with a single hand; “All personnel, brace for crash positions, brace for crash positions.”
Landing gear visible, the gravliner seemed perfectly prepared for textbook landing though only the most naive could ignore the telltale and imminent signs of disaster chosen from intensive wing damage, incomplete gear deployment or lack of landing surface—but one of any sufficient to end any hope of a survivable impact.
As though fingertips reaching to ensnare the craft, talons of rock jutted from the permafrost; missing by scant feet and cursing silently their failure to seize a portion of carnage for themselves. As the height of the immense and gravely injured crash diminished, one of the inanimate scavengers succeeded in their desperate lunge, stabbing agonisingly into the already fractured starboard wing, and shattering amidst a cacophony of tearing metal and shredding electronics.
“Too low—gear, too low—gear.”
Already impossibly unbalanced, the starboard wing rose dramatically to the point of being in danger of causing the entire superstructure to flip over—only the frantic and harsh wrenching of steering columns and operable flaps maintaining the precarious balance. Offering their absolute best, speed brakes deployed from what part of the wings survived to function, forming a barrier and deflecting the cruel arctic winds back from whence the doomed craft once came. Assisting the speed brakes, thrust reversers upon operable engines fired also, directing their scathing thrust to braking rather than previously precious thrust.
“Too low—gear, too low—gear.”
Alas the laws of physics, the thirst of Mother Nature, and the inevitability of the situation pooled their resources to bring about the final instances of impact. Though the wings had taken initial point of attack, their sacrifice merely saved the fuselage temporary respite, as the nose impacted the ice and bounced back into the air.
As the nose pitched upwards in a cruel mockery of take-off position, the starboard wing finally broke free from its tortured superstructure, decapitating a grasping spire of ice in a final act of mindless retribution, and sending the tail down into the snow and rock from whence it could not return.
Finally liberated from the burden of expectation, the rest of the gravliner fell heavily, the heat of still-firing engines superheating the surrounding snow first to slush, and then to steam within milliseconds. The outermost engines had merely sufficient time to attack the snow as such, before being wrenched from their pylons and discarded as artillery might fire a shell and burrow it forth into the mud.
Eventually, the pace at which the craft struck was lost, and she came to a rolling halt upon a scene as identical in random clumps of ice, and rolling hills of snow as that point the crash first occurred. The path of crushed destruction left behind already being soothed by the ever-falling clouds of snow, putting silence to the simmering funnels of steam rising forth.
“Xiana Control to Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, status and condition check.”
The partner to the howling gales out with the slightly warmed chamber was not forthcoming, and elected to keep the controller in a state of continuous waiting. The continuously updating scanner duly failed to retain the blue-tinged symbol that had previously marked the location of the errant gravliner, forcing the presiding Kaeneian to rely upon the transmitter which held no such guarantees of reliability, or success.
“Xiana Control to Kae-Sol zero seven zero five, status and condition check.”
Satisfied that no response could be forthcoming, preparations began to initiate the hazardous search and rescue demanded and require of the authorities, with calls for aid being returned in the positive from the nearest Defence Terra bases, and on-field emergency services. Sitting back upon the chair, he forced the feeling of helplessness to dismiss, logic remind him of the impossibility of his being contributing to the success, or failure of the recovery bid—supposing that faith, if any should be best applied to the Kaeneians charged with sifting through the freezing wastes of the north.
Mariana did not chose to stir, but was instead chosen to wake, wincing as the howling wind tore across her features and stung forth the crimson that had emerged from the considerable cut upon her left temple. Bringing a hand crudely to her forehead, she groaned as the slickness of the wound passed between pressed fingertips. Taking a moment to steady her gaze, she observed the slumped form of Ashan, immediately reaching for him and overestimating her own consciousness.
“Adria is a fickle mistress,” the previously still Kaeneian announced, slowly righting himself to sitting. “I can accept her decision to see us continue our cycle, but I would have preferred a little more comfort to the harshness of denying paradise.”
On this occasion, Mariana allowed her eyes the freedom of to roll, allowing it further to hide her intense relief at their survival, and apparent escape from serious injury. Taking a moment finally to regard her situation, she saw others had not been so fortunate.
The fuselage ended abruptly almost upon Mariana’s row, a tear of some two feet in diameter widening until it spilled upon the ceiling and almost succeeded in sheering the nose sections in two. Of the window frames still intact only one in her view was intact, already rendered useless to gaze through by the vast snow upended by the impact trauma. Through the broken ceiling, snow fell and already cast a white pall upon the aisle—the occasional still hand piercing the freezing blanket.
Ashan looked back to the row behind, and the row ahead, noting their remarkable stillness. Acting quickly, he wrenched free the twisted and tortured restraints that had so dutifully protected him and without explaining to a curious Mariana, eliminated her own. Testing his weary legs and finding nothing more than bruises, he motioned with haste.
Climbing into the aisle, he disappeared ahead pausing only to check upon the occasional dull moan, and twitching limb. Mariana hauled herself up likewise, electing to remain behind until her motivated partner returned with an explanation.
Return he did, though suitably more laden than before. Upon his back an unremarkable, if heavy backpack sat, whilst another of the same type hung from his arm. Underneath his free arm, a tightly wrapped bright orange cylinder of some five foot in length was held snugly. Throwing the pack to Mariana’s feet, he nodded. “We must flee now, to the Northern Territories; the next city; to oblivion or else our end, but we cannot remain here. An opportunity has been thrown to us, and even for all the adversity it may promise, it is a better hope than to await rescue to the fate our current journey had guaranteed us.”
Hauling the heavy supplies to her shoulders and wincing, Mariana followed silently, carefully avoiding any prone limbs or worse, silenced bodies. Pausing before the largest of the hull ruptures, she paused only long enough to regard the chaotic scene behind, and the least sharp edges, before ungainly forcing a path through. Already their ‘minders’ stirred, with only good fortune delaying their waking until now, and said fortune rapidly disappearing.
Regarding the wind as it caressed her cheek with an icicle-laden caress, she settled upon looking forwards, not back. Despite their eviction from Solarri, their absorption into the unknown and entirely unwilling participation in the machinations of the Intelligence Directorate, all was not lost. What remained from all however, would be found amidst the even more profound isolation and loneliness of the Northern Territories ahead.