The next few days are filled with frantic activity, especially for the engineering team, which fields hundreds of questions from the Emperor’s engineers. In return they are given information on a new, powerful, weapon. Its size and power requirements limit its installation.
Regent Voknor calls a meeting of the Primes and their officers, in the flagship’s hangar deck. He stands before them wearing a copy of the same robe that Archon Voknor wore many years ago. Though not technically a Regent’s robe, it is multi-colored, and most impressive. It also perpetuates the idea that he is not going to be the same as any other Regent.
The Primes, many with their senior officers, stand and wait. News of the Emperor’s contact spread like wildfire, as did the rumors. Many stare at Voknor’s new robe with a mixture of surprise and eagerness, clearly talking with the Emperor has bolstered their leader’s confidence. The robe is regal and majestic, one befitting a true leader.
Regent Voknor steps onto a temporary platform, then loudly announces, “The Emperor is pleased with our research…”
The crowd unexpectedly roars with excitement, interrupting Voknor, and taking him aback for a moment. He smiles when he realizes they are pleased for him. He lifts his hands up, and as soon as the noise diminishes, continues, “The Emperor’s engineers have provided us with information on a new weapons system…”
Once more the crowd cheers and celebrates, but this time Voknor waits before stating, “We will complete Prime Tralik’s shield refit, then leave this planet and make our way back to the fight!”
The noise is deafening as the crowd roars again. Being stationary on the planet has left many of them itching to get moving again. Voknor stands tall and proud, not only is this his clan, but he has spoken with the Emperor, himself! He glances up to the catwalks that line the main hangar, and grins; hundreds upon hundreds line the walls. As he gazes around the hangar deck, another thought comes to mind. He needs a more private meeting room, one that seats fifty or so; this Regent enjoys the personal interaction much more than any discussion via the communications systems.
Chapter Seven – On the Road Again
Prime Tralik’s vessel returns from its test flight, and joins Algathor’s as the shiniest in the fleet. His craft is also performing admirably, a credit to the refit team’s capabilities. The overhaul of Tralik’s craft took less time than Algathor’s and it is expected that the time required will reduce as the teams become even more efficient.
Regent Voknor calls all Primes to the newly completed meeting room on the command level below the main bridge. The chamber has seating for fifty, leaving many empty chairs, and causing those present to wonder why there are so many seats.
Voknor waits for them all to arrive and be seated, then he stands and address them, “You honor me!”
The Primes glance at each other uneasily, this is not the way they are used to being addressed. They have all heard rumors about what is to happen next, and as crews’ complete maintenance, and do not start new work, it is becoming obvious their time on the planet is drawing to a close.
“You may all utilize this meeting room at any time, with or without my presence. This area is for all of us.” Voknor states, spreading his arms, motioning to the room.
The room remains quiet as the Primes wait for the next revelation. Voknor does not disappoint them when he continues, “To whoever designed my command chair, I am impressed. I am told that it was crafted from an ancient, petrified tree stump which was discovered in this valley.”
The Primes glance and nudge each other, encouragingly, until finally Prime Gentak stands. He shakes his head and states, “It was to remain a secret as to who crafted your chair, but it seems my fellow Primes are unable to keep some things to themselves!”
Voknor grins, he had suspected it was Gentak; after all, he had access to the materials, time, and clearly, the skill required. “Gentak, you have my gratitude!” He states appreciatively.
“It was an old custom, one befitting you!” Gentak states reverently.
Unexpectedly, the twenty-one Primes stand, raise their left fists into the air, and shout, “My life is yours, Regent Voknor!” The noise fills the room and echoes off the walls as they reaffirm their oaths of allegiance.
Voknor gazes back, then with a swelling of pride, states, “And I would give you mine, to protect the clan!”
The Primes sit down once more, then patiently wait to discover when they are departing the planet, and where they are going next.
“You all know we have been ordered to head back.” Voknor states, confirming the rumors. He narrows his eyes as he continues, “Well, we will comply. But, we will stage our return, refit the entire fleet, and build new craft along the way!”
The Primes glance back and forth warily, whispering amongst themselves. Roggard shares their thoughts, “Would that not be defying the Emperor, if we take too long?”
Voknor nods as he replies, “We will comply, but will stop at select worlds to refit a craft or two. The engineers are to practice building these new construction docks of theirs. We will use them at first to refit our fleet, then to build new craft.”
While Primes nod in agreement, Roggard once more speaks, “When do you plan to depart?”
Voknor replies, “There is no time like the present. Let’s launch!”
The Primes are taken aback by the order, it is clear that none of them are ready to leave.”
Roggard grins as he states, “We should always be prepared for an immediate departure, we won’t get caught again, Regent!”
Voknor grins as well, then replies, “We have a few duty cycles.” He frowns as an idea comes to mind, then says, “Each of you is to launch when ready. The next restock of exotic meats will be granted in the order of those who reach orbit.” His eyes sparkle energetically as he declares, “And my ship will observe the same protocol; last one in space serves the rest!”
The comments cause some of them to salivate. Being on this planet for so long has afforded them the unusual luxury of fresh meat on a regular basis. Some of the crew enjoys the flanks of the massive land based animals, others, the more tender meat belonging to certain flying creatures, while a few are partial to the aquatic species. While some ponder the spoils of future worlds, others surreptitiously contact their craft, and begin preparations.
The Primes are anxious to get moving, which causes Voknor to grin all the more. Finally, he states, “Let’s get off this rock!”
Many rush madly for the exit, while others smile smugly. As soon as the last of them has gone, Voknor strides out of the room. He makes his way to a nearby stairway, then energetically bounds up them, two at a time. Stepping on to the bridge, he notices that Skylow is the only officer present, and briskly orders, “Prepare for immediate launch. Get us into space as fast as possible. Also, what is the status of the ship and our reserves?”
Skylow is surprised by the unexpected orders. He contacts the other bridge officers, reviews his console, then responds, “We have stocks of local meat for a quarter cycle, limited processed minerals, four power units were replaced, engines overhauled, and all battle damage is repaired.”
Cushkull rushes onto the bridge, then stops and stares dumfounded at the main viewer. A ship is lifting off, and doing so in a hurry; its gravity plating shimmers and glows brightly as the vessel accelerates away, dust and dirt falls from its landing pads which still extend downward. He watches as a second vessel lifts off, then spins to face away from the fleet and activates all of its thrusters. Both craft are racing to be the first in space.
Mining craft speed along the desert floor, while shuttles fly inside the expansive hangar decks. Vast piles of semi-processed minerals are left behind in everyone’s haste to launch.
Skylow points and yells, “They’re going to collide!”
Two vessels are taking off at the same time, both rotating as they do, in opposite directions. The nose of each craft gradually swings toward the other. At the last possible moment, the craft on the le
ft angles up and away. The maneuver almost works. The other craft continues to swing, and collides with a glancing blow. Armor from both falls to the desert floor below.
A ground mining vehicle swerves to avoid the falling debris, which rains down all around it in great chunks. The operator glances upward apprehensively as he dodges left and right, his own craft is a distance away, its landing ramp still down while his Prime shouts in his ear, encouraging him to hurry!
Regent Voknor is neither angry, nor displeased with the chaos that his orders have created. He simply observes, knowing his Primes will be better prepared next time.
Cushkull turns to Voknor and says, “Your orders?”
“Launch!” Voknor replies as he continues to watch the chaos.
Cushkull stares at his console and breaks out in a sweat. A tingling sensation runs up his spine, it is not every day you launch a city-sized vessel, especially while others are doing the same, and although the other craft are smaller, that is simply a matter of relativity. Three more lift off without warning; one swings over the nose of the flagship in its haste to avoid a collision, missing by a narrow margin.
An audible hum emanates from beneath the flagship as more and more power is applied to the gravity plating to get them off the ground. Finally, after what feels like an eternity the mammoth vessel lifts off. It banks to one side, then, rather than fighting the air currents, goes with them as they climb into the cloud filled skies.
The gravity lift plates glow brightly as full power is fed to them for the first time in eons.
“Gravity plate failure imminent!” Skylow screeches fearfully.
“Activate sub-light engines.” Voknor orders coolly.
Skylow taps his console, which has an immediate effect. The mammoth flagship is propelled into space, narrowly missing another vessel in the process. The rest of the fleet arrives in orbit, the last two craft racing dramatically, leaving it a close call as to which is the last one in orbit.
Regent Voknor activates the fleet-wide video communication icon on his chair, and says, “It seems we have to put into place some launching and landing protocols.” He glances at his console once more, reviewing data, then orders, “Ratski, Huuntus, land your craft and conduct repairs.”
Prime Huuntus states emphatically, “Regent, Ratski should have yielded to me!”
Voknor prevents any further exchange when he lifts his hand and states, “I take full responsibility for the disorganized launch.” He stares at the main viewer sternly, then orders, “Ratski, Huuntus, while you’re repairing, draft landing and launching procedures for the fleet.”
Both Primes acknowledge their orders; they have been suitably abashed. Voknor ends the meeting, then leans back in his chair, deep in thought. The fleet is in orbit, completely repaired of all battle damage. While two craft have been completely overhauled, others must wait for the opportunity, but how?
Skylow turns and says, “Regent, do you have any specific orders? The fleet is anxious to do something.”
Voknor is brought out from his thoughts, smiles, then replies, “You are quite right! Frazik, scan for a low technology civilization; one that lies between us and the Emperor’s fleet. Skylow, co-ordinate with the supplies officers of the fleet and get me a resources tally.”
“Ah, yes Regent.” Skylow hesitantly replies, before asking, “Does this mean that I am your supplies officer?”
Voknor raises his eyes, then realizes that during all this time, he has not assigned anyone the role, and has been managing the ship’s resources personally. He taps his claws on his chair, then replies, “Temporarily, yes. Assume those duties in addition to your own.”
“Yes Regent!” Skylow responds, awestruck at the responsibilities bestowed on him, albeit, not permanently.
The Regent recalls another matter, then asks, “Cushkull, The Primes and I have been working on a series of short orders and instructions. You will find them in your navigation briefing; learn them, and inform the fleet’s command crews of the new protocols.”
“Yes Regent,” Cushkull replies, surprised at the unexpected instructions. He glances at the list, then reads each point in detail:
Plot One: Maintain orbit using thrusters only.
Plot Two: Approach the target planet using sub light engines, then assume Plot One protocol.
Plot Three: Utilize the main drive at the speed of the slowest craft to assigned coordinates.
Plot Four: Battle stations, offensive posture. All craft are to engage enemy forces with the intention of eliminating them.
Plot Five: Battle stations, defensive posture. All craft are to engage enemy forces with the intention of providing cover fire, protecting the fleet, prior to assuming either a Plot Three or a Plot Six protocol.
Plot Six: Move at maximum speed, and regroup at assigned coordinates. If the Flagship fails to arrive in a timely manner, resort to Plot Seven Protocol.
Plot Seven: Flee at maximum speed for an extended period of time, and regroup at assigned coordinates, in the hopes that any pursuer will abandon the chase. In order to do this, and to avoid flying through planetary systems, the expectation is that the fleet will be heading into uncharted territories, probably toward the very periphery of the Galaxy.
Plot Eight: Battle stations, cause maximum damage, then self-destruct. This order is determined by each Prime individually, and should only be used when there is no chance of saving the vessel and crew.
Cushkull goes over the list one more time, then forwards it to the other craft. He turns and states, “I have transmitted the data.”
“Good! Now, Frazik, what of those scans?” Voknor replies patiently.
“I have two tech level three possibilities. The first is nine hundred fifty light years away, the second is almost three thousand.” Frazik replies.
“Excellent.” Voknor replies, then after a moment, orders, “inform the fleet: Plot Three to the first planet in two duty cycles.”
“By your order,” Frazik replies. He gazes at the deck plates as he wonders how quickly the craft below can repair.
The moment Huuntus and Ratski receive the orders, they work together to repair both craft as fast as is possible. They also work on numerous landing and launching ideas, finally coming up with a number of alternatives, depending up on how many craft are to land.
By the end of the second duty cycle, both damaged craft are repaired, and prepare to return to space. During the repair time, they discuss, debate, and even argue, over the fleet’s final landing and take-off procedures. Eventually they agree on one plan, which they relay to Regent Voknor as they lift off from the planet.
Voknor watches the craft entering orbit, and grins as he orders, “Maximum speed to the first planet!” He then reviews the proposal from Ratski and Huuntus, and smiles; at first glance it seems well detailed.
Cushkull turns, then hesitantly asks, “Regent, Plot Three?”
Voknor’s grin widens as he leans forward and replies, “Well, we are the slowest ship in the fleet!”
Cushkull stammers, “Apologies Regent. Maximum speed!” He kicks himself mentally for not realizing that, and obeys his orders immediately. He vows to not make that mistake again.
Frazik wonders what the Regent is doing. At maximum speed, they will be at the planet in a single day.
Regent Voknor notices the odd expressions and states, “We will practice landing the fleet, building a construction facility, and then departing.” He gazes around as he continues, “And we will continue to practice this procedure until we get it right!”
“Yes Regent!” Intones the bridge crew.
Skylow considers his young Regent’s plan, and then realizes that it is just like a hit and run, except one designed to facilitate speedy overhauls. He glances around as he wonders how long it would take to build an entire craft.
Farmer Joh
Slowing to sub-light speeds outside the solar system allows Voknor’s fleet to scan the planets with greater accuracy, and though unlikely, to search for o
ther spacecraft, particularly Atlan spacecraft. They creep, relatively speaking, forward at one quarter the speed of light.
Frazik reviews the information on his console, then relaxes as he relays his findings, “The fourth planet of this system is our target. The locals are bipedal uprights with a low level of technology; large towns and cities are surrounded by vast tracts of farmland, with steam predominantly being their major source of energy.”
Voknor nods, pleased by the report, then orders, “Inform the fleet of Ratski and Huuntus’ landing procedures. We will give their plan a shot!”
Cushkull expertly operates his console, then turns and says, “Regent, I have detected a suitable location for the fleet to land, however it includes a great portion of their largest farmland.”
“Other options?” Questions the Regent.
“Well, there is a sandy desert, but the depth of the sand will bury half the fleet’s landing struts. Ironically the farmland is our best option, the ground consists of a narrow band of fertile soil, atop a dense formation of rock.”
Voknor taps the ends of his chair with his claws, then orders, “We will land the fleet, in formation!”
“Yes Regent!” Cushkull replies with a combination of excitement and nervousness. He reviews the landing process one more time, then waits. The procedure calls for the placement in orbit of a number of monitoring satellites, which were manufactured in anticipation of this event.
Voknor activates the fleet-wide communications, and states, “Prepare for formation landing, followed by immediate resource collection, and construction of the ground facility. We will refit Roggard’s craft, then depart inside sixty planetary cycles.”
Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles) Page 149
