CHAPTER 1

The keys to the Crunch Bang drive were hidden in the Big Bang, at the very beginning of the universe. The clues were all there for any sentient species to pick up and use in a ship like the Neutron's Sonata.

Chief Steward Abel Michaels hit the kitchen's antique brass gong with his wood mallet. The sound reverberated through the cavernous kitchen, and all activity stopped. All the chefs, sous chefs, kitchen aides, servitors, and bots ceased their activity and turned to face the starboard windows. The only remaining activity was the bubbling of the pots, the rotating cookers, the hum of the cookers, and the mingled mouth-watering scents of over two hundred different dishes being carried on wisps of steam up to the vents in the rocky ceiling.

Everything stopped for the jump transition point.

The Crunch Bang drive wasn't quite an instantaneous drive. Outside observers seeing a ship like the Neutron's Sonata depart would witness the apparent destruction of the ship and all hands as it collapsed into a micro-singularity.

It was best not to think about that part.

On the ship, no one got squashed. The ship, its crew, and passengers of all species continued uncompacted as if nothing had happened except that the view outside became a featureless black void literally without dimension. Some individuals, across a variety of sentients, claimed to see colors or movements, but Abel agreed with the prevailing thought that it was nothing more than the random firing of whatever neural connections existed in what counted as the individual's brain, striving to discover some substance to the void.

In most cases, virtually all, the ship exploded back into existence at its destination. That was the 'Bang' part of the name. It was a birth of the universe moment, only the universe was the ship and its occupants.

An unexpected side-effect of the Crunch Bang drive came with the reemergence into the wider universe. Cascading relativistic auras streamed around the ship in complex, indescribably beautiful fractal patterns. Beauty so intense that some species wept, wailed and had religious conversions at the sight. Some sentients saved for many years to take a trip on a starliner just for the opportunity to witness the auras. More wealthy beings took annual pilgrimages to all the best worlds and enjoyed basking in the glory of the auras.

Meanwhile, the ships crews had the privilege of witnessing every jump. Each time Abel sounded the gong, and everything stopped for the Neutron's Sonata's rebirth into the universe.

Light.

Colors of an intensity and flavor that even the highest resolution hologram failed to capture. Colors that couldn't exist outside of this moment washed across the windows in an ever-churning wave of fractal complexity.

Every time Abel saw it, it was different and the same. Probably the closest thing he could imagine would have been being born. Shoved out into a bright and noisy universe full of smells and tastes and cold, his infant mind struggling to process what he was experiencing.

Not that he remembered being born, but that was what he felt about the auras.

A sigh went through the room as air escaped from the mouths, orifices, and pipettes of the staff. Someone hiccupped.

The display thinned. Darkness was reintroduced, speckled with bright stars and a glowing red mass.

That wasn't part of the auras' — it was their destination. They'd arrived.

Out there, rotating in space, that burning mass of red plasma and searing heat of matter fusing and dying, that was the Tartaros accretion disk. A solar-system-wide cloud of rubble being consumed by a black hole and it was due to explode at any time.

Abel lifted the mallet and struck the gong again.

The kitchen staff jumped back into action.

There wasn't any point in trying to have the kitchen staff work during the jump transition. It was impossible for most beings to ignore the auras created by the ship's rebirth into the wider universe. Even in those species or individuals lacking normal sight, reported something similar to what everyone else saw, imprinted directly onto their mental pathways. Beings reported intense flavors, tactile sensations as if being caressed on every nerve, and even aromas filling the air (although sometimes that was due to fellow passengers losing control of bodily functions while witnessing the event).

All of it was evidence that the auras weren't solely a visual phenomena, but something deeper, reaching into the heart of reality itself.

And if the soufflé fell during the transition, that was the price they paid.

Tonight's dinner was special. Abel strove to make every dinner special, of course, but arriving at their destination called for something unique and wonderful. The menu drew from dozens of different worlds. Some of the items, for their elite passengers, were exceptionally rare and hard to come by. Illegal on some worlds, but the Neutron's Sonata operated outside of planetary legal structures. Other than causing other guests harm, or disturbing their enjoyment of the trip, there wasn't much that was prohibited on board. People of all species paid for that freedom and escape from their ordinary lives.

A T’kon servitor drone weaved among the staff and reared up in front of him. Hundreds of metallic legs wriggled in the air. It swayed back and forth while the head segment dropped down to focus dozens of faceted red lenses in his direction. Lasers danced across his face in quick flashes, mapping out and recognizing his features.

“Chief Steward. Problems detected in Cumberbatch Dining compartment.”

Cumberbatch was an intimate environment, with polished stone ceilings and floors, fountains and a colony of Antalian firemotes lived in the ceiling and came out to put on the most amazing pyrotechnic shows. Many of the booths had fog-wall privacy features so that amorous guests excited by the show could explore their passions without interruption or the need to go back to their cabins. It also had a great dance floor.

“What is the problem?”

The servitor's head segment lowered more. Legs tapped on its carapace. “Cleaning the compartment, discovered a corpse.”

Abel's left eye gave a little twitch. He clenched his hands and didn't rub at it. “A corpse? Of what?”

“A Yellerian monk, Chief Steward.”

“What?”

“A sentient species superficially resembling Terran elephants, this specimen belonging to the religious—”

Abel held up a hand. “I got it. I know what they are, their gods know that I've had to feed them plenty of times. But what I want to know, is why I wasn't informed we had one on board?”

The servitor's body waved back and forth. “That information —”

“Just show me,” Abel said. “I want to see this before I call up to the bridge and make a fool out of myself.”