Interdimensional travel is nothing like the science fiction movies make it seem.
There's no graceful emergence into a new reality, no gentle transition between worlds. Instead, it's like being shot out of a cannon that wasn't aimed properly.
I'm tumbling through space at what feels like terminal velocity, completely disoriented, with my ring's environmental protection flickering like a dying light bulb.
The green energy field around me pulses erratically, and every system in my body is screaming protests about the dimensional transition. My inner ear has given up trying to figure out which way is up, my vision keeps swimming in and out of focus, and there's a taste in my mouth that's somewhere between copper pennies and regret.
To top it all off, through the chaos of my uncontrolled flight, I smashed through what is now the golden and sleek ship exploding into debris behind me.
"Sorry." I mumble to the wreckage, though I doubt anyone's left alive to hear the apology.
The dimensional transition has scrambled my nervous system badly enough that simple tasks like "fly in a straight line" have become exercises in advanced physics. My ring responds sluggishly to mental commands, the constructs I try to create fizzling out before they can form properly.
Eventually, through sheer stubborn concentration, I somehow manage to stabilize my tumbling and bring myself to a relative stop. The silence of space settles around me, broken only by the quiet hum of my ring maintaining life support.
The stars are wrong.
That's the first thing I notice once my vision clears.
The constellations are completely unfamiliar, arranged in patterns that my Lantern-trained eye doesn't recognize.
It's all just strange clusters of light scattered across a sky that belongs to someone else's universe.
I hold up my left hand and focus on my ring, running a scan of the surrounding space.
The green light pulses as it searches for anything that resembles familiar; energy signatures, known planets, anything that might give me a bearing on my location.
Nothing.
The scan comes up completely empty.
No Earth, no Oa, no familiar star systems or Lantern Corps installations.
"Well," I say to the empty void, "seems like I really am in a different dimension."
So overall I'm completely cut off from everything I know, floating in space with limited power and no idea how to get home. The dimensional rift closed behind me, so that's not an option. I don't even know if the Green Lantern Corps exists in this reality.
Which is certainly unlikely.
My power battery display shows about twenty-five percent remaining, definitely drained from the dimensional rift, and under normal circumstances would be enough for several days of standard operations. But these aren't normal circumstances.
I'm running purely on battery power now, with no Central Power Battery to recharge from, and every function I use, flight, life support, scanning, drains energy I can't replace.
I channel some of its energy directly into my ring, bringing my personal charge up to about forty percent. The extra power helps clear some of the fog from my head, but it also reminds me how exhausted I am. The dimensional transition took more out of me than I initially realized, and my body itself is running on fumes.
With the battery secured to my belt, I can finally take a moment to consider my options.
They're not good.
I'm essentially operating on borrowed time. Even with extremely careful power management, I've got maybe a month before my ring becomes an expensive piece of jewelry. I need to find help, information, or at least some place safe to figure out my next move.
The problem is, I have no idea what constitutes "safe" in this universe. For all I know, the first ship I encounter could be crewed by genocidal space pirates who collect human organs as currency. Or worse, they might be the local equivalent of the IRS.
While contemplating these cheerful possibilities when I hear something that shouldn't be possible in the vacuum of space, a faint whooshing noise that seems to be getting closer.
I turn toward the source and spot a small object streaking through the debris field left by the destroyed research vessel.
It's some kind of single-seat pod, no bigger than a motorcycle, with what looks like a rocket booster attached to the back. The thing is clearly damaged, trailing sparks and atmosphere as it tumbles through space in an uncontrolled spin.
There's someone inside.
Pushing my exhaustion aside, I fly after the pod, matching its trajectory and carefully maneuvering alongside it. The craft's hull is cracked in several places, and I can see that its life support systems are failing. Whoever's inside doesn't have long.
I form a simple construct, a pair of giant green hands, and carefully grip the pod to stop its tumbling. The hull is hot to the touch, even through my energy constructs, and I can see that the entire craft is coming apart at the seams.
I tear open the cockpit hatch and look inside.
The pilot is small, maybe two feet tall, covered in silvery fur that shimmers in the light from my ring. Large, intelligent eyes stare up at me from a face that's unmistakably cute in a way that immediately reminds me of every animated mascot character ever created.
"Pip," the creature says, its voice high-pitched but clearly articulated as my ring translates his speech.
I narrow my eyes, studying its features. The proportions, the fur, the large expressive eyes—
"Why..." I start, then shake my head. "Why do you look like Pikachu?"
"Pip?" he asks, tilting his head in obvious confusion.
"A Pikachu is... never mind. What's your name?"
"Pip." he says, patting his chest with one small hand.
"Your name is Pip," I repeat. "Well, you know what, Pip? I'm going to call you Pikachu."
The small creature's eyes widen, and he starts waving his arms while chattering rapidly. "Pip pip!"
"Yes, I know your name is Pip," I say, grinning despite everything. "And yes, I'm being unreasonable about it."
"Pip!"
"You're so adorable," I tell him, which only makes him wave his tiny fists more emphatically. There's something about his indignant little expression that's genuinely endearing, and for a moment I almost forget about the dimensional displacement and power crisis.
Almost.
My expression shifts completely, the brief moment of levity evaporating as the reality of our situation reasserts itself.
The void stares at me, vast and indifferent.
"Pip?" he asks quietly, clearly picking up on my mood change.
"Do you know where we are?" I ask him, settling him onto my back where he can hold on safely.
"Pip pip pip…" he begins, his voice taking on a more serious tone as he starts explaining our situation.
"So we're in the outer shipping lanes," I say, processing what he's telling me. "Between what territories?"
"Pip pip. Pip pip."
"Sovereign space and their mining colonies." The names don't mean anything to me, but the fact that there are established territories suggests organized civilization. That's something, at least.
"Pip?"
"How far to the nearest inhabited system?" I repeat his question back to him. "Yeah, that's exactly what I need to know."
"Pip pip pip. Pip pip pip Pip."
My heart sinks. "Three days by conventional drive, I'm assuming that means faster than light speed type of travel. That's... that's a problem."
He continues chattering, and I can hear the concern in his voice even without understanding the words.
"An abandoned mining operation somewhere in this sector," I say slowly. "Abandoned for months. So no help there either."
Three days to inhabited space. With my current power reserves, I could make that trip while somewhat tapping into my battery if absolutely nothing goes wrong.
But that's not accounting for the real problem.
"Pip?"
"What's wrong?" I sigh, considering how to explain this. "The device that brought me here did something to my system. I'm more exhausted than I've ever been in my life, and I can feel my concentration starting to slip. Space flight at this level requires constant mental discipline."
I pause, trying to find the right words. "I'm going to do everything I can to get us to safety, but I need you to understand, there's a real possibility that I'm going to lose consciousness before we reach help. My body can't keep up with the demands, and when that happens..."
"Pip?"
"We'll die out here." I say matter-of-factly.
"What the hell man!" He immediately starts waving his tiny fist at me, his voice rising in pitch and volume. "How can you say something like that so casually!"
I can't help but be impressed by his reaction. Most people don't respond to death sentences with righteous indignation. "You're right, I probably shouldn't be so casual about it. But panic won't change our situation."
"Exactly, do you even have a backup plan? Maybe someone to call!"
"No, I don't have a backup plan," I admit. "In my universe, I had support networks, other Lanterns I could call for help. Here, I'm just one person with a fancy ring."
We drift slowly through space while I try to think of options. Any options. The abandoned mining operation might have functional systems, but months of abandonment usually means life support failures and dead communication arrays. The inhabited system is too far away for me to conserve battery power given my current state.
"Pip?"
"What am I thinking?" I look down at him. "Honestly? I'm thinking that maybe I got lucky when I crashed into that research vessel. Maybe someone will come looking for it."
"Pip."
"You're right, that's not much of a plan." I continue scanning the empty space around us. "But unless you've got a better idea, it's what we—"
A brilliant beam of golden light suddenly blazes out of the darkness behind us, so intense that it makes me squint even through my ring's protection. I spin around and see a massive shape emerging from the void.
It's a ship. Sleek, golden, clearly advanced technology, and easily a hundred times larger than the pod I destroyed. The spotlight tracks our movement.
"Finally," I breathe, genuine relief flooding through me. "Rescue."
But as I watch, panels along the ship's hull begin sliding open, revealing what look suspiciously like weapon emplacements.
"PIP!"
"Yeah," I say grimly, "I see them too."
The weapons lock onto our position.
"Oh."
"Oh."
The ship opens fire.