A/N: Nocam is pronounce "Knock-um" and Se-combe is pronounced "Seh-come."

Se-combe 3

Prologue

The mediator's voice rang clear throughout the trans-aluminum dome,
competing with the volume of the cheering crowd.

"Ladies and gentlemen! We are proud to bring you - the 28th annual
Trans-Galactic Marathon! For those of you unfamiliar with this race,
this is how it works. From here at the lovely Trans-Orbital station,
these brave pilots will race towards the Galactic Core, using any
means necessary: hypergates, wormholes, and anything they want, outside
of a transport. Once there, they will collect dust samples from the
massive cloud, and bring it to Los Angeles, capital of the United
Earth Federation. But not all will return. Many a racer has been lost
to pirates, asteroids, and unusual spacial anomalies. Can they come
back? We will find out won't we?"

The crowd began cheering even louder as the small crafts began taking
position along a lit strip of fiber optics. But mainly, they were here
to see 33 year-old Nocam Davis, and 24 year-old Michael Bacheson, the
two crowd favorites. Michael was born into racing and his lithe, agile
figure showed it, as did the many sponsor insignia plastered on the
hull of his ship. Nocam on the other hand, was once an armored
infantryman for the United Earth Federation Marine Corps, as well as a
one-fighter pilot. His lightning fast reflexes, honed from his time in the
cockpit and in firefights, made him perfect for races such as this.
His racer, an old, modified Eagle Heavy Fighter, fit him perfectly.
The racer had an azure cockpit canopy, a 'tail' and forward swept
wings, modeled to look like they were feathered. On either side of the
'head' of the fighter were four small hatches, disposable panels that
protected weapons, two on each side.

The crowd watched the last remaining digits count down. When it hit
zero, every racer reached over their head and turned a power key to
the right; firing up their ion engines and sending them rocketing off
into the depths of space.

Chapter One

"Biorillium core reads 100. All systems normal," the computer's
feminine voice reported.

Nocam reached to the right and flipped a switch, bringing the small
racer back into manual control, then brushed the hair from in front of
his steel-grey eyes. His medium, dirty blonde hair always seemed to
get in the way. As he brushed the
hair away, debating going back to a military cut, a faint scar running almost
parallel to his hairline was revealed.

He was now passing through a rather large debris field, nearby the
star WK-14462, after stopping for a resupply at the Heavy Cruiser UCS
Gullinbursti. Nocam glanced at his scanners to check his position,
cranked up the power to the ion engines, and blew full-force into the
cluster. Weaving in and out of the slag and shards of metal like a
nuclear powered weaving loom, Nocam was able to save a few minutes by
passing through it, rather than going around.

When he finally exited the cluster, a small, gaunt, tear-shaped
trading vessel obstructed his path. Nocam groaned as he recognized the
insignia upon the belly. It belonged to his younger cousin, Sharlene,
whom flew throughout the underdeveloped star systems, scamming people
out of their belongings, and selling them at high prices on more
developed worlds as 'artifacts.' She had once invited him to join her
business venture, but he turned it down, deciding that he would rather
earn his living the hard way. He allowed her vidcom to come through.

"Hello, Sharlene. How nice to see you out on this side of Alpha Centauri."

Sharlene had somewhat of a 'Plain Jane' face, with shoulder-length
brown hair, but had what seemed to be a perpetual sneer on her face.
There was no love lost between the two.

"Nocam. Losing another race I see. Tsk tsk. I told you. Sign on with
me, and I can provide you with a new racer, a new thruster, anything
you need to give you the edge in any of these races. Still care to say
no?"

"As always, I want no part in your scams, Sharlene. Because unlike
you, I have a sense of morals, and do not like to separate innocent
people from their hard earned monies," Nocam's voice had become
condescending.

Sharlene began laughing. Her high-pitched, schoolgirl laugh filled
the small cockpit of Nocam's racer. It hurt his ears to hear it, so he
turned down the volume.

"Sense of moral? HA! Coming from a trained killer like you, it sounds funny."

She paused for a moment to bring up a star chart.

"How about this: the checkpoint at the galactic center is an
observation post. Last one there buys lunch?"

Nocam flicked a switch on his right and his racer blew past a
startled Sharlene.

"I like fried ryu!" he radioed back to her.


***

Nocam awoke from his deep sleep to the sound of a soft beep. He
reached over, turned off the alarm, and stretched out as best he could
in the cramped cockpit. The Weapon's Officer's seat, located behind
his, had more room, but it was impossible to get into while in the
vacuum of space.

"Where are we?" he asked of his computer. A brief whirring noise
emitted from the console.

"Approaching UEF accepted galactic center," the computer's cool
feminine voice announced. Nocam raised the sunblocks on his cockpit
canopy to reveal a spectacular sight.

A massive twisting wall of gasses and clouds was over two hundred thousand
kilometers from Nocam's current position, yet the forces of gravity
within the cloud pulled at the shielding of his ship. Nocam switched
the controls to manual and carefully guided the ship toward the wall,
cutting his speed to a crawl. At this rate, it'd take him almost 45
minutes just to reach tractor range. When he finally got close enough, he
activated his tractor beam and slowly pulled some of the material
toward him. The sample was almost to him when it happened.

"Warning! Gravitational anomaly detected!" The computer warned him.

Nocam cut the power to the tractor, released the sample, whirled his
ship around, and punched the thrusters. But the pull had him. A hole
opened up just behind him, and his racer was sucked inside. His ship
blasted forward as he attempted to slow it down, but the gravitational
forces were unlike any he'd encountered before. After what seemed like
an eternity, the wormhole ended, and Nocam was deposited back into
open space. No sign of the Core, but there was a star nearby. A
large-sized yellow star; similar to Sol. Nocam pulled up his nav-maps,
but his location didn't register. He was in an unknown sector of the
galaxy. It did make sense, however. Only a third of the Milky Way had
been mapped. He recorded his location into his onboard star chart, and
then began a long range scan. Somewhere, there had to be some sort of
subspace beacon. The UEF had been launching hyper-capable, subspace
positional buoys for the past two thousand years. Even unchartered,
unexplored parts of the galaxy had a buoy or two, and the range on
them was almost 10,000 light years. He should have picked up at least
a faint echo of one. But the system was silent. Until all hell broke
loose, that is.

Blue-white bolts of plasma lanced through the ether toward his racer.
Only the targeting alarm and Nocam's superb reflexes prevented the
ship from being blown apart. Nocam switched to manual and faced his
attacker, flipping the cover open on his weapons panels. It was a
small fighter, shaped like a bird with dipped wings, a mean looking
weapon on either tip. There was a double-triangle with a diamond
between them perfectly placed on the side of the hull. The pilot
within was hidden behind the green-tinted canopy, but Nocam was sure
he was being sized up. He was getting edgy, but didn't move for fear
of being shot at again. The strange fighter was seemed almost like a
metallic falcon, ready to swoop down upon its prey. Nocam started
broadcasting his codes over all local channels, but got no reply.
Whoever this pilot was, they either didn't have their radio on, or
didn't care. Nocam was about to blow the panels covering his weapons,
when a deep, harsh male voice came over the radio.

There was a string of unintelligible sounds with a fluidic overtone
that gave the impression of water. Whatever language the pilot spoke,
Nocam wouldn't have been able to duplicate the sounds if his life
depended on.

Which, based on my situation, might actually be the case.

The string repeated again, though with a little more impatience.
Nocam figured it wouldn't hurt so he flipped a switch, opening up his
mic.

"This is Nocam Davis. I was competing in a race when I hit a
wormhole. I have no idea where I am. I wasn't intending to trespass,
if that's what you're here about."

There was a pause, then another string of sounds, though with an
inquisitive inflection.

"Sorry, I don't speak your language."

There was no response, which made Nocam's thumb itch to press down.
Were he the other pilot, he'd be calling his base to get an idea of
what to do. Of course, the other pilot could also be deciding where to
put his next shots. He began to debate his options. He could hit his
port docking thrusters while blowing his panels, fire his own weapons
to disable the engines, and then haul a** towards the star, hoping the
interference would mask the obvious signature of his afterburners.

Then the plans were wiped from his mind as a massive ship took up
position a kilometer over them. You didn't have to be a genius to
realize that this was a military capital ship. It was shaped like a
cigar, only with a bow that looked like a water vessel, and had a
large squat dome near the front, possibly the bridge The hull was
bristling with turrets and what looked like projectile cannons, all of
which faced forward, violating the typical design of capital ships.
Nocam put it all together and wished he'd destroyed the fighter when
he'd had the chance. To have a ship that big, with that many weapons,
they had to be a rebel force, possibly a lost colony. There had been
many of them since the creation of the United Earth Federation in
2026. Two more fighters of the same configuration also arrived, taking
up either side of Nocam, one of the capital ship's turrets pointing at
him. No one fired, but the original fighter moved closer, another
string of sounds. Nocam got the hint. They wanted him to follow. He
fired his docking thrusters lightly enough to make the racer pitch
down and up, making it seem like it was nodding. Satisfied with the
answer, the fighter turned and began a leisurely pace, one which all
could easily maintain. Nocam entered an auto-follow command into his
autopilot and leaned back in his seat. It was going to be a long ride.

***

A proximity alert roused Nocam from his nap. He glanced at the
controls, but the computer had already halted the ship. He entered the
command to change his canopy from opaque to 75% transparency. And what
he saw astounded him. Multiple capital ships of the same design, as
well as other orbited around a pink-purple gas giant's moon. The moon
appeared to have an atmosphere. The racer's scanners showed an
Earth-like environment, with a gravity of 1g, despite the size. As the
original fighter began moving again, Nocam took note of the rest of
his surroundings. The other two fighters had long since left, though
the chances of escape were still small, as the capital ship was still
overhead. Their apparent destination was a rather large orbital
structure with a few docked capital ships, fighters, and what could
only be a transport. As they moved closer, an empty docking tube began
flashing; the lead fighter breaking off to Nocam's left. The tube was
obviously meant for him. He slowed his velocity, allowing his scanners
to retrieve as much data as they could. Nocam had sacrificed weapon
power and military-grade shielding for speed and armor, though he
installed a science-grade sensor suite. Due to the enormous power
requirements, Nocam never used weapons and his ion engines at the same
time he used his sensors.

When he finally arrived at the tube, the computer began firing
docking thrusters to line the cockpit up perfectly inside the tube, as
it closed to form a perfect seal. A few seconds later, there was a
chime as the tube pressurized and the canopy lifted up, allowing Nocam
to step out. He wore a simple brown sleeveless shirt, a pair of black
trousers, a black belt, and black boots, a chain around his neck. As
he approached the hatch at the far end of the tube, he couldn't help
but feel uneasy. The closer he got to the hatch, the more he wished
he'd been able to grab a weapon from the cargo hatch on his racer. He
felt naked without even a sidearm. Before he reached the hatch, it
slid up, revealing three men in blue uniforms with gold trim and
one-way helmets. Two were armed with rounded rifles, one was not. The
unarmed man had four silver hashes on each of his shoulders, probably
signifying that he was in charge. He was also not wearing a helmet. He
had the face of someone that'd been through more than someone their
age should have. His face was smooth, except for the jagged scar that
kept his left eyes closed. His lips were thin and his mouth was not in
a smile, and his black hair was cut short. He looked Nocam right in
the eye and spoke a string of the same words. Whoever he was, he was
used to authority, used to getting his way. Nocam couldn't help but
chuckle. He was obviously an NCO. The man frowned at Nocam, and then
gestured to the armed men. One of them stepped closer; his weapon
trained at Nocam, then moved it toward another hatch. He was to follow
them.

The corridor was long but cramped, hatches on both sides, though only
a rare few would open, a uniformed individual going in or out.

"So...nice place y'all have here," Nocam thought out loud, hoping for a
response which did not come.

They eventually stopped at another hatch, this one with a thicker
door that required a code to enter. The NCO spoke a word and the door
slid up, allowing Nocam to be gently prodded into, before the door
dropped shut again. They'd placed him in an empty room, with nothing
but a stool, a bed, and what appeared to be a toilet and a sink.

A holding cell. Great. Good job, Davis. You went and did it again.
Imagine what the Gunny would say. Probably call you a retarded ******** smack you over the back of the head and yell at you to ******** situation.

Nocam sat on the stool to go over all the information in his head,
and try to devise a solution to his predicament. They hadn't bothered
to search him, as his vibroblade was still in his boot.

I could use it to cut away at the door, but if they caught me, it'd be
confiscated. No, better hang on to it in case I need a weapon.
Probably use it to acquire a rifle from one of the soldiers. Or at
least a pistol.

He was interrupted from his thoughts when the hatch slid up and the
NCO stepped through with a single armed soldier behind him. The
soldier had his rifle at the ready, though not pointed at Nocam. There
was a device on his left hip that looked like a pistol. Cragface made
a rising motion with a hand, so Nocam stood, analyzing the situation.

I could probably rush the soldier, slamming him against the wall.
Unless he's a lot quicker than he looks, I could draw his pistol,
train it on Cragface, and keep my arm at Joe's throat. If I get him to
the other side of the cell, then get Joe over there as well, minus the
rifle, I could lock them in here, make for my ship, then get the hell
out of Dodge, hopefully before anyone realizes what's going on.

As he tensed, ready to rush, the NCO stepped close to Nocam, grabbed
his head, and kissed him full on the mouth.