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Goheen WitchA dark, sci-fi fantasycopyright 2014 Trisha Miller, London, EnglandBook 2 - ArmageddonThe four thrusters fired with a juddering roar. Taymar shuddered. It felt as if the whole ship was being torn apart. Its long, black rectangleMoreGoheen WitchA dark, sci-fi fantasycopyright © 2014 Trisha Miller, London, EnglandBook 2 - ArmageddonThe four thrusters fired with a juddering roar. Taymar shuddered. It felt as if the whole ship was being torn apart. Its long, black rectangle lifted from hangar, tilted and yawed sharply, until the pilot regained control. Three hundred tons of mine-layer, armed with twelve nuclear torpedoes, with enough destructive power to destroy a star system, hovered in the bright air. Then it’s dull, black shields shimmered, as it faded from view. Taymar gripped the cold metal arms of her reclining chair, shivering with fear. The hangar doors snapped open above her, filling the air with torrents of rain, which danced and slid over the surface of the now invisible ship. The pilot engaged the star drive and the ship accelerated through the rain-clouds with a gut wrenching jolt, until it slowed- hanging above the planet on the edge of a dawn sky. The NAV screens, which surrounded them, lit up, showing the early morning stars. The Bear constellation and Orion’s Belt shining blue-white and golden in dark-blue, star-cloud fields.The pilot turned and studied Tamar’s face: she was young, scared and didn’t have the bland impassive confidence of his previous navigator. He wondered how long this one would last: Elohin telepaths are too sensitive, he thought. Too many had died in combat- their minds destroyed by the stress of war. He’d returned from his last mission with the navigator catatonic- her face slack and vacant.“Shall I turn off the air synth?” He asked, by way of conversation, although he did hate the stink of synthetic ‘forest air.’ Taymar looked at him blankly. “You have flown in one of these heaps before?” He queried. She shook her head. “OK, let’s see what you can do with the NAV.”Taymar slipped on the NAV helmet and its four electrodes burrowed into the shaved squares on the side of her scalp. The NAV screens added new objects, as her sensitive mind relayed their faint traces to the radar tracking correlators. Troop carriers running in stealth mode, battle scarred supply ships returning from war with fighter escorts, and a sleek commercial freight ship, smuggling contraband, drifted slowly across the screens. Beside each ship, the NAV computers tagged its details: in flashing green for incoming targets and steady green for outgoing targets. They were all ‘friendlies,’ without red tags and the hostile warning alarm remained silent. The pilot was impressed: navigators seldom detected the smuggling ships: they run quiet: their crew sleeping- frozen in stasis, but there was something strange about her. As he uploaded the mission way-points from the base, he discretely raised a CAT 1 security alert. If there was anything irregular about her, INTEL would know.