SUNDAY MORNING SUNRISE POST
LOCATION: SHREVEPORT FRONT PORCH
THE SUNDAY SKIES:
SUNRISE: 6:08 AM
SUNSET: 8:26 PM
MOONRISE: 4:18 AM
MOONSET: 6:49 PM
WEATHER: CLOUDY WITH A CHANCE OF THUNDERSTORMS, TEMPERATURE HITTING A HIGH OF 91°F.
THE FRONT PORCH VISIONS:
WE ARE WATCHING THE SUNDAY SUN RISE UP OVER THE SHREVEPORT TREES. THE MUG OF COFFEE IS HOT AND STEADY, AND THE WORLD IS QUIET BEFORE THE STORM CLOUDS ROLL IN. WE ARE BUILDING THIS PIECE BY PIECE, CAPTAIN.
The coffee was finished, the dregs cold, but the anticipation in the air was anything but. I set my empty mug—the one with the subtle SPP mark—back on the small side table, beside the data-pad and Bill’s own discarded '89C' cup. It wasn't just another Sunday morning anymore. The light over the river was perfect, the cypress swamp a masterpiece of golden-green, and our Shreveport skyline stood as a beautiful, final memory.
"Time to put this porch behind us, Captain," Bill said, his cybernetic eye focusing with a soft, crimson whir. He didn't look back at the swamp. He looked forward, towards the stars that were just beginning to fade above the distant city.
"Aye, Bill. The visions are clear, the narrative is built, and the timeline is secure." I adjusted the collar of my service jacket, the red rank insignia catching the last few rays of home.
We stood together, a matched set of grizzled veteran and weathered mechanic, framed against our final sunset. Beside us, our astromech and nav computer, GEM-1N1, let out a series of integrated binary, its green holographic matrix pulsing with raw, optimized data—sector synchronization complete, memory block allocation confirmed.
The ship, the S.S. Starlight, was waiting. A modified Rendill-Surron light freighter, her custom lines gleamed under the hangar lights. Her sublight engines were cold but her heart was ready. The portal, the cosmic apocalypse I had unleashed and subsequently stabilized, now hummed in orbit, a controlled multi-verse tear held in place by the crystalline ether-dragon technology. We were the first ones to step through.
"For the Leo Galaxy," I said, pointing our trajectory far beyond our own stars to a brand-new frontier.
"For the reconstructed years," Bill countered, his gruff voice steady.
With a final nod to the silent swamp and our final dawn, we turned. We didn't just walk off the porch. We stepped through the gantry and directly into the history of the galaxy.
The heavy airlocks of the S.S. Starlight hissed shut, sealing out the damp heat of the Louisiana night and replacing it with the heavy, rhythmic vibration of deck plates coming alive. We moved instantly to our stations.
I climbed past the main deck crew hub and went straight to the nose cone—the forward-most compartment of the freighter that housed the Captain's Quarters. Here, my personal suite doubled as a command center. I stepped up to the built-in tactical station, looking through the panoramic viewport into the deep black void where the portal shined.
Just through the bulkhead wall, I could hear Uncle Bill already inside his dedicated office, throwing the physical safety lockouts. Down on Deck 1, deep inside the primary armory where his personal quarters were integrated for maximum security, the heavy weapons arrays began their power-up hum.
Directly linked into my tactical screen, GEM-1N1 took full control of the ship's navigation computer.
The astromech's terminal feed flashed bright green as it bypassed regional firewalls, calculations humming at lightspeed to plot our precise jump vector out of this system and straight into the heart of the Leo Galaxy.
We were carrying the weight of our stories and the product identity of Arthur Earl C. Hedges Jr., ready to unleash new, controlled worlds beyond the Meridian. Our adventure was only beginning.
THE VECTOR TO THE LEO GALAXY IS CALCULATED, AND GEM-1N1 HAS THE NAV COMPUTER SCREAMING TO JUMP.
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