Ethan Hedman’s “Impact Imminent” was an honorable mention for the Icarus Contest. I love how immediately his vivid writing sucks you into the story. It starts right in the action, and the pace doesn’t let up, making it feel as though this snippet is excerpted from a longer (and awesome) work. This is sci-fi, with the technology worked so seamlessly into the story that it doesn’t have to be explained. The Icarus myth fits perfectly here—it’s such a unique telling, and yet sticks to the mythic elements so well.

You can find Ethan at his website, on Instagram, and Twitter.

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Impact Imminent
By Ethan Hedman

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Ikar took sharp breaths, keeping himself low to the floor as he crept through the enormous hangar. This was his one chance, his only chance, to be free of this miserable place.

The hangar was filled with fighters of all shapes and sizes, formidably stocked to prevent any attacks made against the Creterian Empire’s prison station. It took Ikar half an hour to find what he’d been looking for: a tiny single-pilot craft emblazoned with the seal of the Imperial Family, a proud white bull rising from the sea.

He activated the holocard his father had smuggled in for him and held the digital handprint that manifested against the ship’s entry panel. Its cockpit sprung open with a gentle hiss. “Welcome, Crown Princess Aria,” the onboard computer intoned as he slid into the seat. Ikar sealed the cockpit and strapped himself in before fiddling with the communication functions.

“Can you hear me?” he whispered.

“You made it! Well done, Ikar.” Dalos’ voice crackled through the ship’s speakers. “Listen, we don’t have long to talk. They’re going to figure out I disabled the hangar’s scanners soon, if they don’t track this signal first. You need to launch before any of that happens.”

“Don’t worry about me. You need to get out, too.”

“My own escape is well in hand. We still need to ensure yours. You remember what I told you?”

“Stay on course and don’t let the engines overheat.”

“And that I believe in you, son. Close your eyes, now. Let yourself relax. It won’t do to have nerves on your first spaceflight. Remember how we practiced this mentally, how much you’ve learned in the past few months.”

Ikar leaned back in the seat and breathed slowly. “I can do this, Dad. I… I have to.”

“You will. One last thing, Ikar: You’re almost certainly going to be pursued. A cool head wins the day. Stay calm when they come after you. Now, are you ready to plot the course?”

“Hold on.” Ikar fumbled with the computer. The ship was a prototype, and he wasn’t familiar with its navigational system. “I think so.”

“Directional coordinates: 503 687 831. It’s the straightest possible shot to get out of Imperial territory. The ship’s computer should alert you once you’ve left it behind, as Imperial ships aren’t legally permitted to act outside of their own space. There’s an inhabited planet nearly called Cycil. We’ll meet there soon. Repeat that back, son.”

“Five-oh-three, six-eight-seven, eight-three-one. Fly straight and head to Cycil. Right?”

“Perfect.”

Ikar primed the engines. “When will I see you?”

“Soon enough. Remember, son, I–“

“Dad?” The speakers were silent. Ikar reset the comm channel. “Dad, are you there?”

“Ikar, launch! They traced the signal, get the hell out of here!”

Ikar slammed the activation panel and gripped the control wheel. He spun the ship backwards and soared out through the hangar’s protective forcefield. The shields are their downfall, Dalos had said. Impenetrable from without, perhaps, but little more than a thin wisp of air from within.

He kept the ship moving as fast as he could without risking the engines overheating, but it wasn’t fast enough to soar away without pursuit. Soon a pile of indicators were stacked up on the side of the viewscreen to warn Ikar of high-velocity targets approaching from the rear.

“Incoming communication request,” the computer reported.

Ikar grunted. “Estimate time required to reach the Imperial border at our current speed.”

“Seven minutes and forty-three seconds.”

He didn’t think he could stall them for more than a minute, much less seven, but Ikar had decided he wasn’t going back to their damn prison. “Put the comm request through.”

“Cut your engines or we’ll scrap your fucking ship, inmate.”

Ikar blurted out the first lie that came to mind. “I’m an Agent of the Imperial Family. By order of Crown Princess Aria, I command you to return to your stations.”

“Bullshit. You’re scum, and you’re about to die if you don’t–“

“The punishment for refusing an Imperial command is execution.”

“Huh. Funny. Same punishment as refusing my request. Say goodbye, scum.”

The pursing ships opened fire in ongoing volleys. His little fighter was equipped with shields, but they’d eat through them before he was anywhere near open space.

Ikar took a deep breath and took the ship off course, swerving back and forth manually with the wheel. He set the engines to exceed their maximum speeds. He didn’t care if he had to tear the ship apart. He’d never set foot inside a prison again.

“Warning: engine temperatures rising to unsafe–“

“Disable temperature warnings. Display… anything nearby on screen.”

“Specify.”

“Anything, damn it! Asteroids, planets, anything!”

New indicators speckled the viewscreen. Ikar flailed the controls wildly as he squinted to read them. Something finally caught his eye. “Estimate time required to reach this system’s star.”

“One minute and fourteen seconds.”

“Fuck it.” He spun his ship sideways and made for the blazing ball of light. “Listen up. We’re pushing these engines until they explode. Calculate velocity required to skim past the edge of the star and into the atmosphere of whatever the first planet on the other side of it is. Match that speed and put us on that course. Whatever you do, keep the engines and life support running.”

He flopped back in his seat. This was it, his moment of truth. The prison’s fleet would be insane to skim their sun behind him, but he’d never be able to outrun them unless he somehow managed to land and hide on the surface of the upcoming world.

The viewscreen tinted itself darker as Ikar skirted the sun. He could feel the heat starting to sink through the hull. Sweat pooled on his jumpsuit. It felt like he was standing in a volcano. He grit his teeth and waited. He only had to endure this for a moment. Soon it would all be behind him.

The control panels flickered. Klaxons blared. Everything went dark. But finally, after what felt like an hour of sitting in a flaming oven, the air cycling through the cockpit felt cool again. The viewscreen’s tint began to return to normal, and Ikar breathed a sigh of relief.

“Okay! Computer, estimate time until we start entering that planet’s atmosphere.”

“Seven seconds.”

Ikar noticed he had been crying. He laughed as the tears rolled down his cheeks. “Thanks, Dad,” he whispered. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Entering atmosphere.”

“Find somewhere for us to land.”

“Error.”

Ikar furrowed his brow. “Error?”

“Planet unsuitable for landing.”

“What?!”

“Warning: unable to decrease velocity. Impact imminent.”

Ikar sat in stunned silence as he watched the front of the ship begin to burn up. Beneath him was nothing but an endless stretch of sea.

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End

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© 2018 Ethan Hedman. The content of this article, except for quoted or linked source materials, is protected by copyright. Please contact the author for usage.

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