[h1]Unclaimed system[/h1]
[h2]Unnamed Planet[/h2]

	In the space of several days an empty island had taken on a new form. Smoothed out and sculpted to something new. A simple super-structure had been put down, the bare necessities of landing and as easy to dismantle as it was to put down. Standing over the tallest slime-covered rocks at the equator of this alien world, the landing pad was one of many that spread out a decentralized colony of landing pads and associated developments. From the Starship Liberty - from the surface a distant and hazy smudge beyond the atmosphere that slipped from the sky and returned at the speed of the day – tents had been acquired and haphazardly set out. In their cool shade counter tops and tables had been set about and alcohol served in the balmy tropical air.

	It was by no means a perfect setting. The first remarks of the adventurers as they rotated on and off and on and off again was that the planet had a smell, like a moldy bathroom and a stale closet, with a tinge of salt. The primitive and primordial status of life on this planet such that nothing was really turned over. No new smells, no new experience was spread in the atmosphere. No flowers or orchids to bathe the senses in their perfume. Nor was there any other life here to give to it a smell of musk. All of it was locked under water. Given another million, billion years the conditions on the planet may develop so that there would be complex surface bound life. But for the time being what was above the tidal line were odd purple and red blossoms of fungal and lichen growth on the sea battered rocks and dotted in the sands. Nothing of which was tested to be harmful to the alien life that plodded about its sandy islands, stretching their legs for another indeterminate voyage through the interstellar void.

	“So where are we going next?” a man asked, leaning on the impromptu bar. A large television screen hung over the low shelf of booze and an array of cameras on top of the monitor streamed the present drinker's back to the main ship.

	“The persistent war by the Ressurectionists is creating a refugee problem.” one of the figures on the screen said, a woman reclining to the side on a couch, “At least I think so. It might be worth going over that way to relieve the pressure a bit and get civilians and dissident groups out of the way before the fascists can do anything about it.”

	“Is that really our problem though?” another asked, “Isn't there someone else who can deal with it?”

	“Far as I know no one has.” the same woman said, “So the opportunity's there.”

	“They're a lot closer to us than the Zuukind.” Marcus chimed in. He sipped some rum and scratched the side of his nose, “So supposing we owed anything to anyone they'd be the most accessible.”

	“It's not entirely out of our scope. We moved people out of the way of their crusade centuries ago.” another figure in the stream said, “Don't see why we can't again.”

	“Yes but that was centuries ago. Is it really such an issue now? Let the statists duke it out. If they can't see the future might as well let them kill one another. We'll be the only ones left, the only life after their annihilation.”

	“We're not talking about moving planetary government out. Just the sort caught in the middle. Those with the most to lose, at the least.”

	Marcus was drawn from the conversation when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see a familiar dark face around him. “Oh hey Dan.” he said, smiling.

	“Ey, Marcus. About to do one last ride about the planet. I think we're starting to pack up here. You game?”

	“Yeah, I was getting bored here anyways.” he said, putting down his half drunk shot of rum. Excusing himself from the table he followed the tall broad-shouldered black man out over the perpetual beach.

	Parked at the frothy verge of land and sea sat a collection of small vehicles, sharp and pointed, their sides bulged out like pregnant whales in the armor shell of white poly shells. The cabins, a black enclosed space, were almost like the head of a grub. They rested on the sand, white fins struck out and burrowed in the white gray ground, the waves lapping up against them, the bodies held up from the ground by them. They sat waiting, fish like in appearance ultimately, and deadly patient.

	“We're good to go, chief!” a small man said, a young child hanging out alongside him placing tools into a tool box. There was a small gaggle of people there, human, alien, man, woman, young, old. Those ready to ride out scrambled aboard the waiting hover craft and threw open the hatches and threw themselves inside. Dan did so too, and Marcus took up his own.

	Inside the cabin was cool, there was the soft whisper of the air conditioning as the air inside was gently circulated, making the inside colder by fifteen degrees than it was inside. The seat, conforming to Marcus held him gently; it was as if he were floating. All around him he could hear the whine of the engines fire up and reaching to the control panel he flipped his own switches. Responding instantly the lights went on and a holographic display was projected onto the tinted windshield. Readings of power levels, engine performance, and cabin conditions were emblazoned in bright neon blue letters across the dim, dark window. As the engines warmed up, Marcus reached for a holographic dial and with the tips of his fingers turned it. The tinting of the cabin glass lessened, and the alien planet's colors were gently restored.

	One by one the white flying fish lifted off from the barren beach and took off in a formation of one leading the other. Dan's lifted off, and Marcus was swift to follow pushing down on the throttle and releasing the pent up energy deep inside the craft's engines. He pulled up, and lifted off right behind Dan and headed into the sky.

	They left the ground and went up to twenty meters above it. Moving swift the landmass they were encamped quickly shrunk in the rear-facing stream. The speedometer crept up. 90Kmh, 120kmh, 200kmh, 400,kmh. In the space of a minute they were beginning to geometrically increase their speed, a gentle maneuvering of the vehicles if anything. They went as high as 340m/s before safety mechanisms cut in and stopped the acceleration before they could break the sound barrier. By this point the effects of speed were at hand in the controls and as it sped along Marcus could feel the control stick wobble in his hands. His grip tightened. By this point the encampment was well beyond the horizon and the only indication it was there was a GPS signal to help navigate them back, projected through a compass in the lower-right hand corner.

	Far out of sight, the group peeled apart with fliers going which ever way and essentially playing with one another. Racing low close to the waves or engaging in mock dog fights as they soared up and came down low, kissing the crowns of peaking waves.

	Marcus chose to stay the course, and soon he was alone. Not truly. The speakers were alive with the chatter of the rest of the group. But it was sparse. As lively as it was, it hardly meshed together. Picking up altitude he climbed higher into the sky and looked out at the alien world below him. Expanses of water marked with interwoven tips of underwater mountain ranges beginning to break the surface. Somewhere far off there was a cloud of great black smoke, a volcano in the midst of a pyroclastic eruption. Below him, sandbars as thin as human hair drew long sweeping lines in the water down below. Here he could see the depth of the water, as its color. Vast regions were light and a misty blue. Others further off were dark and almost black. Here was the bare inundation of an entire world, almost as an atmosphere. Below it would be vast deserts, canyons, forests even of some alien kelp or seaweed. But they played above it, it barely a tenth of the entire planet. Perhaps barely a percent of it, there was so much more below the surface.

	Someone spoke up, it was far different than the other chatter Marcus could overlook. “Hey guys, anyone else getting a new navigation signal?” he asked.

	Puzzled, Marcus checked the map. Sure enough, a second directional arrow had been added. The former pointed back towards the island behind him. The other, somewhere towards the top and pointing to the right pointed to something else.

	“I see it.” Marcus said, as the others reported in the negative. “What is it?”

	“I don't know...” said the other pilot, “I don't know at all.”