Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles)

by James Jackson

  Pryle glances at his console then states, “Activating Navigational Shields.”

  Algathor stands, then walks to the main viewer, through which he observers the same faint shimmering emanating from the hull as before. He turns to his bridge crew and questions, “I don’t see anything special?”

  Pryle remains quiet, while one of the other officer’s, Loparx, replies, “Our engineers indicated that the observable difference would be negligible.”

  “Very well,” Algathor acknowledges, before adding, “Let’s test them. Find some space junk, and run into it.”

  Tralz has been scanning the system in anticipation of this test, and excitedly states, “I have found a minor debris field; it’s in orbit around the sixth planet of this system.”

  “Good,” Algathor replies, “We will be able to test our sub-light engines as well.”

  Pryle efficiently uses his console, his expertise evident in the way he works, “Sub-light engines engaged,” He reports, following Regent Voknor’s orders that each and every action, be verbally stated.

  A live video feed of the bridge crew’s actions is being monitored by the engineers on the flagship, as a precaution in case something goes wrong, they will have as much information as possible.

  Regent Voknor is monitoring the test with his engineers, and is still suppressing a smile at Algathor’s comment about being provided a view. He turns to an engineer and states, “We need to augment the orbital thrusters as we will be landing our craft more often.”

  “Yes Regent,” Responds the engineer. He unexpectedly blurts out his epiphany, “The extra weight! That’s why they’re spinning. We never thought to enhance the thrusters, or add more. the weight is not an issue in space, not for the main engines anyway, but in an atmosphere...” His voice trails off as his mind races.

  Meanwhile high above the landing site, Prime Algathor stares down at the vibrating deck plates in alarm. He questions, “This is near light speed?”

  Pryle holds onto his console as he replies, “Yes Prime; the sub-light engines are at maximum, and we’re holding at ninety-three percent of light speed.”

  Loparx adds his voice, “The additional weight has reduced our speed by three percent; boosting power to the IGD to one hundred-ten percent, one hundred-fifteen percent.”

  The vibrations diminish, then cease all together as the power is increased, to be replaced by a strange thrumming sound which rises and falls in pitch. The bridge crew stare at the deck apprehensively as the low resonance continues to emanate from beneath their feet.

  Prime Algathor contacts the monitoring team and asks, “Are you getting this? We experienced vibrations coming through the deck, and now this unusual sound. Should I abort?”

  The bridge crew glances to each other apprehensively as they wait for an answer; the unexpected vibrations through the deck plates, though no longer present, have unnerved them.

  “Continue with the tests,” comes the reply through the bridge speakers from the monitoring team.

  “You heard them!” States Algathor, “Now, make sure those navigational shields are active, then slow down and ram something.”

  Pryle turns to Algathor and reports, “The debris field is ahead, reducing power to ten percent…”

  “Reduce to thrusters only.” Algathor commands, interrupting Pryle. Rising from his command chair, Prime Algathor strides closer to the main viewer, and watches as they approach the asteroid field.

  “Thrusters, only.” Pryle confirms as he shuts down the sub light engines, allowing their momentum to carry them forward.

  Tralz, who has been monitoring his console continuously, reports, “Debris field ahead. Naturally occurring, density levels normal, no technologics indicated.”

  No one expected there to be any signs of technology in the debris, but Tralz scanned the field thoroughly, just in case. His thoroughness pleases Prime Algathor, who turns and nods approvingly.

  The bridge crew anxiously watches as their vessel plows into the asteroid field. The shields sparkle as they shatter or deflect the material. A large chunk is deflected toward the bridge area, and seems destined to strike them. Algathor stands firm as the asteroid tumbles closer and closer, and then with a slight shimmering effect, is deflected safely away. As they ram asteroid upon asteroid, dust particles become trapped in the infinitesimally small gap between the shields, where they burn, creating a cascade of colors.

  Algathor maintains a watchful eye as he orders, “Slowly accelerate to one quarter light speed.”

  “Engaging sub light engines, gradient curve to one quarter light speed.” Pryle replies immediately, as he touches his console.

  Apart from an increase in the intensity of the light show, there is no other effect as the ship accelerates.

  They are nearing the far edge of the asteroids when Algathor orders, “Main drive to unit one.”

  Pryle’s tongue goes dry. Activating the main drive while in an asteroid field is a dangerous maneuver. But he complies, “Activating main drive.”

  The particles that strike the shields immediately become a mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors as they exceed light speed.

  “Activate main shields,” Prime Algathor orders, then adds, “accelerate to maximum speed.”

  Regent Voknor watches with the monitoring team as Algathor’s craft streaks away, heading farther away from the galactic core. They wait apprehensively for his return.

  Prime Algathor strides around his bridge smugly, his craft’s performance is exceeding his expectations, and other than the initial vibrations, he has little to report. Their top speed is slightly reduced, as is their maneuverability, however, these are fair trade-offs for the protection gained.

  Returning to the planet, Algathor orders, “Leave us in orbit, where we belong; commence long range scans, and prepare my shuttle.”

  Voknor listens as Algathor relays his findings to the monitoring team, who quickly begin discussing the deck vibrations. Their conclusion is not as inspiring as expected.

  Regent Voknor remarks, “I am not confident that resetting the IGD to one hundred-twenty percent is a viable long term solution.”

  An engineer replies confidently, “That is still well within safety tolerances.”

  “I have worked on internal gravity plating,” Voknor replies, staring hard at the engineer, “and though I concede that this is our only solution for now, your teams will investigate the matter further.”

  The engineer waivers under Voknor’s determined scrutiny, then replies, “Of course Regent, this is a temporary solution.”

  Regent Voknor’s features soften, “I am impressed with your team’s efforts, and results.” He pauses, reconfirming his decision, then orders, “Refit Prime Tralik’s vessel.”

  Everyone expected that one of Voknor’s supporters would get the next refit, and not another who opposed him. Voknor secretly enjoys their nonplussed looks, he knows that those who support him do not need special treatment, but those who do not, need a little reminder that this is one clan, and not the splintered groups it was before.

  Trial

  Regent Voknor stands before the seven younglings, as his father once stood before him, and ponders his father’s words before sharing his own, “The trial has been with us for countless millennia, since before the exodus, and stays with us still. Those of you who survive, will earn the right to choose your own name and join the fleet as respected clan members. Make us proud!”

  The younglings glance around nervously; they have all heard that their clan, their Regent, has the attention of the Emperor. The Den Mothers have stressed heavily that if any of them fails their Regent, then they fail the Emperor.

  Voknor stands tall, then nods to Prytec as he instructs the seven young Gamin before him, “Survive the wilderness with nothing but your wits for ten days, then stand before me again as younglings no more!”

  Prytec nods back as he replies, “All is arranged, Regent. Younglings, come with me, now!”

  Six males and one
female follow Prytec onto a shuttle, another sign that the Gamin race is slowly dying off. The females are not weaker, there are simply fewer hatching each cycle.

  Voknor smiles as he recalls details of Prytec’s plan. Each youngling is to be left in an area which appears hostile and dangerous, but in reality has been carefully screened by Prytec’s most trusted guards, for lethal threats. In addition, the younglings will be monitored every second they are on the planet, reducing the risk to them drastically. Of course, the younglings know nothing of this, thus to them the trial will be real, dangerous, and validate their self-worth.

  Prytec and Voknor watch each youngling from space. They cringe when one falls off a cliff edge, but cheer when the hapless youngling catches the side with his claws, and then climbs back up. The youngling glances at the soft edges, and stays well away. Another youngling steps directly in the path of a massive land creature, but fortunately the beast turns and runs back the way it came. Its blindness from the invisible laser temporary; the guard assigned to watch the youngling remains hidden, and is pleased that his actions are unnoticed. Minor events play out, but fortunately none become aware of their unseen protectors as the days pass.

  As the shuttle leaves to collect the younglings Voknor turns to Prytec and states, “You have my gratitude. If ever you require anything, simply ask, and it shall be!”

  “You honor me Regent,” he replies humbly.

  The crew of the flagship gathers as the shuttle with the younglings arrives. The Primes of many vessels look on as well, they are curious as to how things go. Everyone cheers when all seven younglings stride down the ramp; they are tired, hungry and thirsty, but apart from a few cuts and bruises, are in great shape.

  The last youngling looks up at Voknor worshipfully, and says, “Regent, my father was killed in the last battle. If I do not take his name, am I dishonoring his service to the clan?”

  Prytec grins as Regent Voknor pauses uncomfortably at the question. Younglings are not meant to ask anything, just select a name.

  Voknor considers the question for a few moments, and then answers, “Your father’s honor is his own, his legacy, based on his actions. It is your time to find your path, your name, and create your own destiny, one he would be proud of.”

  The young Gamin stands tall and states, “I take the name Sharz, a respected Archon of old.”

  Regent Voknor has been learning of their exodus, and grins as he responds, “Interesting! I will be watching you Sharz! You do know that Archon Sharz opposed Archon Voknor on many issues.” He adds, leaning forward with a glint in his eye.

  Young Sharz gazes back humbly as he replies, “Yes Regent.” He quickly stammers, “He also supported Archon Voknor’s position with the exodus. I am told that only four others pushed to load the surviving artifacts in the Emperor’s craft.”

  “Indeed!” Voknor replies, keeping his surprise to himself; he did not know that, and will confirm young Sharz’ statement as soon as he can.

  He turns his attention to all the younglings, and states, “Welcome to our clan, you have done well and deserve to be proud.”

  The female of the group, Lilpax, shocks everyone when she steps forward and states confidently, “I will serve you well, Regent, and wish to be one of your officers someday.” She lifts her left hand in the air, leading the others as she states, “My life is yours Regent Voknor!”

  Prytec stifles a chuckle at her audacity. In the old days, the females were equals, but as their numbers diminished, they became relegated to less risky positions. A chill runs up his spine as he wonders if a lack of purpose, other than laying eggs and teaching hatchlings, is why they are dying off. Females of old made the toughest of warriors, and if it were not for the Atlan attack on their world, were destined to be the ruling class. He glances to Voknor and can see that he is having the same epiphany.

  Voknor stares hard at Lilpax for a moment, then surprises all when he states, “I would welcome a female officer on my bridge. Prove yourself, and so it shall be!”

  The newly named Gamin depart, and as soon as they do, Prytec cannot contain himself any longer, and laughs as he holds his body. Voknor chuckles with him, as do many of the Primes. They feel relaxed and comfortable; a well needed break from the stresses of being constantly under threat of an Atlan attack.

  Emperor Calling

  Regent Voknor sprints as fast as he can; it is not every day you get a call from the Emperor. He skids his way onto the bridge, barely acknowledging his two bridge officers, Cushkull and Machkno, before addressing the image before him. “Regent Voknor, at your service.”

  Communication between the two parties would ordinarily be virtually instantaneous, but they are so far apart, there is a slight delay, which adds to Voknor’s feelings of being isolated.

  “Who?” Replies the ancient looking Gamin, who then hurriedly steps away as he says, “Emperor Yoolon is ready for you now.”

  Voknor swallows hard, he is about to see the most powerful Gamin alive. He realizes that he was only Prime for a short time, and faced but one major battle, a losing battle at that, and now the Emperor is contacting him!

  A new image appears, that of an elder, as can be seen by his dark color and tones on his green scaly skin. “I demand to speak with Regent Xasturz, not whoever you are, Prime?”

  Regent Voknor frowns, then suddenly realizes he is still wearing his robe which signifies his station as a Prime. It is simplistic in comparison to the lavish and ornate one the Emperor wears. He quickly gathers his thoughts and replies, Regent Xasturz was killed during an attack on an Atlan Construction hub. I am Regent Voknor, the victor of the leadership challenge.”

  The Emperor growls angrily, “That idiot caused the Atlans to redouble their efforts against us! Now they have multiple Carrier construction facilities, each heavily guarded, while forces are actively hunting and engaging ours. Two clans have been wiped out since that stupid attack, while you sit idle on a planet, safe!” He spits the last word out sarcastically.

  Voknor’s gaze narrows as he replies, “Xasturz wanted to make a name for himself by that attack, to be remembered for all time. But, instead he almost cost the fleet! I have submitted a petition to have his name wiped from the records due to his wasteful actions.”

  The Emperor sneers as he replies, “His name shall indeed be purged, so that none know of his existence.” The Emperor’s demeanor suddenly changes; his claws extend, as he leans forward and demands through bared teeth, “Why has the fleet been stationary for so long?”

  Voknor replies in a measured tone; not aggressive, and yet, not passive either, “We suffered considerable damage, which could not effectively be repaired in space. In addition, being grounded has enabled us to conduct research into some new technologies, which we will share, Emperor.”

  “Technology?” Queries the Emperor in surprise, before demanding, “Explain!”

  The two are getting used to the pauses between, but even so, Voknor almost talks over the Emperor when he states, “My engineers have discovered a method of rapidly crafting a planet-based construction dock which, if enough resources are available, will enable us to complete a Destroyer in one hundred standard days. We also have specifications on a new shield system, which when used in conjunction with a thick layer or armor, enhances our survivability, dramatically.”

  “Send all data to me,” Replies the Emperor, bluntly, though his eyes glint, expectedly. It is clear that if the research is valid, he will take credit, if not, he will simply let Voknor take the blame.

  “As you command,” Voknor replies, lowering his gaze respectfully.

  The Emperor silently stares at Voknor for a moment, then asks, “Do the Primes support you?”

  Voknor lifts his gaze and replies without hesitation, “All accept my position, some more willingly than others.”

  The Emperor nods, then stares at Voknor once again. A moment of silence passes before he decrees, “I acknowledge, and approve your position, Regent Voknor.” He then casts his gaze
up and down, as if evaluating him, then orders, “Now get a robe befitting of your station, you have earned it!”

  “Immediately, Emperor!” Voknor replies in disbelief. He had considered that the Emperor may strip him of his position, as is his right.

  The Emperor warns, “Do not stay on any world for too long, Regent! The Atlans have a way of finding us when we do!” His tone is firm, but his expression is more lenient than anticipated as he instructs, “Complete repairs, then return to the fold, we need forward thinking leaders like you!”

  The Emperor vanishes unexpectedly; his image replaced by the bleak landscape before them.

  Both officers turn and stare at Voknor in awe. The Emperor himself, recognized his position. Cushkull hesitantly asks, “Shall I send all the data we have? Or would it be better coming from the engineers?”

  Voknor is still in a daze as he responds, “Send everything, then inform our engineers to prepare themselves for questions.”

  Machkno slowly shakes his head as he vocalizes his thoughts, “No one would dare challenge you now. You have the Emperor’s support!”

  Neither officer has ever heard of the Emperor endorsing a Regent’s position before. They cannot wait to ask their older colleagues if they have witnessed such an event in the past.

  Voknor leans back in his chair as the ramifications of the discussion play on his mind. He glances at his Prime’s robe, then says, “The Emperor is quite right, I need a new robe.” He then gets out of his chair, and stops cold. He wonders if he should have stood for the Emperor, or not. He reconsiders the conversation, realizing that had he done anything wrong, he would know by now, then leaves the bridge.

  Regent Voknor is no more than a dozen paces away before his officers begin to share the news. They go as far as to proudly tell others that the Emperor had to wait for their Regent! They are soon bombarded with questions from other ships about the communique. By the time Voknor reaches his quarters, half the fleet is talking about the Emperor’s personal endorsement of his position. Retiring to his room, he researches a robe that would befit him. The answer stares him in the face when he glances in a mirror. He smiles as he realizes that he does not think like other Regents, and in some ways, that makes him a revolutionary, so his choices narrow down to one, a most logical one.