Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles)

by James Jackson

  The Supreme Ruler hurries after Sharz, stammering, “Wait… Wait. How am I supposed to do that?” He demands.

  Sharz stops, turns, then leans over the man as he bluntly states, “You’re the Supreme Ruler! You figure it out!”

  The Supreme Ruler blanches, then quietly replies, “I will do as you request.”

  Sharz snorts in disgust, then strides to the shuttle. He aggressively pushes the craft to its limits as he heads back to Malflik’s vessel, and is surprised to find a few locals trying out the bodysuits, with more approaching. He contacts Lokarz’s craft, and learns that they too have an abundance of volunteers.

  Mining operations continue, though the vast majority is collected by Gamin engineers, a few locals assist each site. The construction of the newest ship is progressing slowly, too slowly. The days come and go, and despite all efforts, each day sees scant few locals added to the mining parties.

  Sharz stares at the group of locals before him, and cringes, then with a sigh, he reluctantly contacts Regent Voknor, and reports, “There is something wrong with the neural interface; most locals are incompatible.”

  Voknor is concerned, and questions, “Are the suits killing them?”

  “No,” Sharz immediately responds, then slowly explains, “they become disorientated and extremely sick.

  Suddenly Voknor has a flashback to the piles of bodies on Oglan, and with a shudder, orders, “If any die, stop! Otherwise keep pressing for volunteers, and get them mining. We have a ship to build!”

  “Yes Regent.” Sharz replies as another local falls out from a bodysuit, and explosively vomits all over the floor, splattering a wide area.

  Six others stand nearby, nervously ready to try their luck. The financial reward offered by the Supreme Leader for those who are capable of operating the Gamin bodysuits, makes the risk well worth taking.

  Hemlax: Round Two

  “This is Regent Hemlax, calling for clan assistance.”

  Skylow bolts upright in his chair, and immediately contacts Voknor, and appraises him of Hemlax’s request.

  Moments later, Regent Voknor strides onto the bridge and orders, “Contact Regent Hemlax.”

  Hemlax’s image appears on the main viewer; he immediately states, “Regent Voknor. I have done it again. I was poking around an Atlan construction facility, and would seem to have made them mad. I have four carriers in pursuit, and am unable to outrun them, or elude them.”

  “Only four?” Voknor queries warily. He feels that something must be wrong, four carriers should not be a major problem for Hemlax’s fleet.

  Hemlax nods as he replies, “I know what you’re thinking. The carriers have a new class of fighter on board, and they not only hit hard, they’re tough!”

  “We stand ready to assist. What would you have us do?” Voknor asks.

  Hemlax grins, then says, “I knew I could count on you. Sending coordinates.”

  Cushkull reviews the area, then calculates a rendezvous, and states, “We must leave immediately, and travel at near maximum speed to make it.”

  Voknor stares at Hemlax for a moment, then states, “Recall all of our people, make ready to depart.” With a grin, he adds, “We have Atlans to kill!”

  Sharz reads his orders, then cringes as he reviews the whereabouts of all the mining crews. He immediately contacts Regent Voknor and states, “To depart immediately, we will have to leave many of the mining craft, and the local bodysuits, not to mention the partially built craft.” As an afterthought, he adds, “Oh, and the docks construction tips!”

  Voknor replies, “Understood! Just launch as fast as you can, Hemlax’s clan requires assistance.”

  Sharz recalls all crews, then once he confirms that everyone is back on their respective craft, contacts both Primes, “Everyone is accounted for, we’re ready.”

  Both massive craft immediately launch into space, much to the surprise of the locals who are waiting to try out the bodysuits. These locals stare up at the retreating craft with a mixture of emotions.

  When the Supreme Ruler hears of the craft taking off, he winces. He hopes that the alien’s launch has nothing to do with him or anything he did, and that they are not about to attack. Once the fleet is observed leaving orbit, he relaxes.

  The Gamin have no sooner gone, when the space-program leader reports that he is unable to contact Artemis One, and with all their satellites destroyed, is unable to confirm or deny the craft’s survival. Hastily rigged telescopes are unable to locate the tiny craft, leaving all to wonder.

  As Voknor’s clan approaches the target coordinates, he contacts Hemlax, “What’s your status?”

  Hemlax’s image appears, then goes fuzzy as electronic interference messes with the signal, “Jukalore is here too, but so are three more Atlan carriers.”

  “Understood.” Voknor replies.

  Skylow turns and says, “The Atlans are on the offensive again?”

  Voknor frowns, then says, “The timing is unusual. We go from a few contacts to this? In a day! Something is not right.”

  The fleet reduces speed, and enters chaos. Hundreds of Atlan fighters strafe the lager Gamin craft, with hundreds more protecting the carriers.

  Frazik loudly states, “A flotilla of thirty fighters is coming our way!”

  “Only thirty?” Voknor queries, then mumbles, “They will be destroyed before they get close enough to do anything.”

  Machkno grins as he fires at an Atlan fighter, then smirks when it explodes, “I thought they were tougher?” He questions.

  Frazik reviews his data, then says, “It is possible that some are newer than others, I’m reading differing energy signatures from the various groups of fighters.”

  Voknor leans forward and studies the battle on the main viewer, then orders, “Swing the fleet around the main body of fighters, and make for the carriers. See if we can draw a few of them away from Hemlax.”

  Frazik notices an oddity, and reports warily, “Five more carriers have arrived in system; their fighters are launching, and on an intercept course.”

  Machkno cheers, “Eleven more destroyed!”

  Skylow frowns, confused, as he shares his findings, “The Atlans are committing a large portion force of their older units to attack us, leaving their newer units to harass the others.”

  Voknor grins with pride when he sees both cruisers firing barrage after barrage at the Atlans. Their sheer firepower, an impressive addition to their fleet. Their total forces number almost ninety vessels, while the Atlans have twelve carriers, each with a compliment of two hundred or so fighters. The battle is chaotic to say the least.

  “Oh my!” Exclaims Lilpax, “Two hundred and twenty fighters inbound!”

  Cushkull leans toward Machkno and informs him, “I will be rolling the ship the moment the first one fires!”

  Machkno nods, then says, “I will be ready!”

  Each Prime maneuvers their ship to maximize their survivability, while inflicting as much damage as they are able. Damaged craft swing back toward the flagship, while others provide covering fire.

  Lilpax reports, “Six Primes are retreating; each has multiple hull breaches, but as of yet, there are no casualties.”

  “Understood.” Voknor replies, then orders, “Press for the carriers, see if we can take a couple out!”

  The sheer number of combatants causes the battle to ebb and flow, changing the tactical situation minute to minute.

  “Hemlax has lost a vessel!” Lilpax shrieks.

  Before anyone can respond Skylow states, “Make that two, and Jukalore just lost one!”

  Cushkull feels a rush of anger as he states, “We will be in weapons range of the carriers any moment.”

  Voknor unexpectedly orders, “Ignore the carriers for now; eliminate the fighters!”

  Four hundred and fifty fighters engage Voknor’s fleet; they are intercepted by Jukalore’s forces which perform a short burst maneuver with their main drives. The force of fifty Gamin craft eliminates a quarter of the fi
ghters during their first pass.

  Frazik cringes, “Six craft are catastrophically damaged, and won’t be going anywhere soon, their main drives are out!”

  “The carriers are taking hits!” Machkno reports gleefully.

  They watch in silence as one explodes, then another, and another. Hemlax’s flagship smashes its way through the debris of the third, trailing clouds of vapor from numerous hull breaches.

  Voknor taps on his chairs console, then orders, “Engage that group of carriers!”

  Cushkull continues to roll the ship as he engages the sub-light engines, bringing them closer to their targets in seconds. Skylow keeps the fleet informed, allowing them to follow close behind.

  Machkno raises his fist in delight, shouting, “Got one!”

  Frazik continues to monitor the battle, them reports, “They’re retreating!”

  “Not without more losses!” Exclaims Machkno excitedly as another carrier explodes before them, scattering fragments in all directions.

  The remaining carriers unexpectedly engage their main drives, and in a flash, speed away. Few fighters remain; many escaped while the Gamin forces focused on the one group of carriers.

  Voknor immediately contacts the other Primes, and states, “Hemlax, Jukalore, we must get your ships repaired as fast as we can. The Atlans will be back.”

  Hemlax stares back, overwhelmed, then says, “Repair them? Some are beyond repair.”

  Voknor grins, then says, “But we should try!”

  Jukalore comments, “Ordinarily, I would say to abandon the ships, but this time I am with Voknor. We should attempt to repair them.”

  Hemlax looks around at his bridge crew, and seeing hope on their faces, replies, “Yes, we should try!”

  Every engineer in the fleet works nonstop to get the damaged main-drives operational. It is no easy feat, especially in space, but miraculously one by one each craft is successfully repaired. Three of them will require complete overhauls before they can achieve top speed again, but at least they are capable of keeping up with their fleets normal speed. Two others rest atop Hemlax’s flagship, docked, their engines too dangerously damaged to operate, but no longer in danger of overloading.

  During this time, Voknor reviews the battle over and over. He approaches Skylow and comments, “Well, it looks like the Atlans are on the offensive again, but by sheer luck, they threw their weaker forces at us!”

  Skylow tilts his head as he replies, “Well, those weaker forces damaged every vessel in the fleet, including us!”

  “True, and with the engineers working on Hemlax’s fleet, we have failed to attend to our own damage.” Voknor replies, troubled by the realization.

  “Basic repairs are being conducted, but you are correct, the more severe damage will have to wait until our engineers are back on board.” Skylow replies.

  “I am concerned that the Atlans will return, with reinforcements. We must leave this area of space the moment we can.” Voknor states apprehensively.

  Skylow taps on his console, then after a few moments, relays, “Hemlax reports that his critical repairs are nearly complete, and that he can complete the rest with his engineers, if need be.”

  “Excellent,” Voknor replies.

  Seconds later, Jukalore contacts Voknor, and says, “It looks like our engineers are returning! Once mine are on board, I intend on leaving this area to attend to my fleet’s damage, and other matters.”

  Voknor replies, “My thoughts exactly. We have a planet with a nearly completed vessel I wish to return to. You are welcome to join us.”

  Jukalore pauses for a moment, then says, “Actually, I was assisting another clan with upgrades when Hemlax messaged. I will return to them.”

  “Understood!” Voknor replies, pleased by Jukalore’s actions. As Jukalore’s image fades, he turns to Skylow, and orders, “The moment Hemlax’s forces leave, all ships are to make best speed back to the planet, and immediately begin repairs.”

  Retreat

  Regent Voknor frowns as he stares at the multi colored spectrum of light that bombards their craft. His fleet is on the run, speeding toward a safe haven and repair facilities. He considers the Atlan fleet they engaged, and wonders what they were up to. Many of their forces were older, antiquated by Atlan standards, and if it were not for their sheer number, would have been outmatched.

  “It’s a trap!” Machkno shouts unnecessarily loudly, breaking Voknor from his reflections.

  Regent Voknor leans forward and demands, “What do you mean? A trap?”

  Machkno replies with a dread filled voice, “The lead craft are reporting a Warmonger Class carrier in orbit. Somehow they neutralized our satellite’s early warning systems.”

  Voknor stares at his command chair’s console for a moment, reading data, and then orders, “Maintain main drive until we’re right on top of them. Set combat condition to maximum readiness.”

  Cushkull nervously begins his calculations. Their flagship is traveling many thousands of times the speed of light, thus the barest fraction of an error could see them flying into the planet, or worse, through the system’s sun. Bulkheads are closed, protecting vital areas, weapons charged, and repair crews get into position. Within minutes, they are ready for anything, or so they think.

  The Regent can hear his bridge crew mumbling to each other as they efficiently work together. They are fearful of the Warmonger, as they should be; it is the latest of the Atlan Carrier designs, and to date, none have been sighted, until now. They will be the first fleet to engage one in battle, and they are all apprehensive.

  Machkno leans toward Cushkull and asks, “What do the indigenous call the planet?”

  Cushkull is feverously working on his calculations, many from memory, then as he shuts down the main drive, states, “Pythos!”

  “Oh yeah,” he replies, having forgotten the planet’s name.

  “All weapons free!” Voknor orders fervently as the planet suddenly appears before them, filling the main viewer.

  They arrive in the midst of an epic, apocalyptic battle. Vast numbers of smaller craft swarm the larger Gamin vessels. Immense debris fields fill the space around the planet, confirming how successful the ambush has already been.

  Cushkull immediately accelerates their mammoth vessel toward the battle. Streaks of light from their energy weapons lash out, along with volley after volley of projectiles from their pounders.

  An Atlan fighter fails to maneuver out of the way in time, and collides with them, leaving a mere smudge on the vessel’s thick armor as the shields on both craft flare.

  Machkno realizes, with mounting dread, that he has more targets than he knows what to do with, and then alarmingly notices that a single shot does not destroy the small craft. They are tougher, much tougher.

  Regent Voknor surveys the carnage to his fleet; many of his ships are damaged, and at least one is destroyed, such is the ferocity of the Atlan attack. Two of his clansmen narrowly avoid colliding with each other as they attempt to maneuver in the heat of battle.

  Frazik stares at the data he is receiving in disbelief; Atlan Carriers usually have a compliment of a couple of hundred fighters, but the one that faces them is easily ten times the size of anything seen before, even larger than the rumors and intelligence reports indicated. His mouth goes dry as his scans reveal more than two thousand enemy fighters, and worse still, their shields are extremely powerful, while their weapons seem to cut through the Gamin shields as if they did not exist.

  As if mirroring Frazik’s thoughts, Skylow questions doubtfully, “Are our shields even working? We’re taking a beating.”

  “Shields to one hundred-ten percent,” Voknor orders. He too is awed by the overwhelming power of the attack, and after assessing their chances of winning, orders, “Escape trajectory, plot seven!” He shakes his head in shame, he has failed his clan, yet again.

  Everyone knows what plot seven is, but that particular order has never been given before. The crew hesitates for a moment, giving
the Atlan forces time to swoop in from all directions, to converge on one section of the forward hull. Their lasers eat away at the armor, then amazingly cut into the hull. An explosive puff of gas and debris vents into space as the flagship’s armor and hull is melted and sliced away. An enemy fighter flies into the massive gash created in the ship’s side. It fires into the very guts of the command ship, causing considerable internal damage, before flying out.

  Cushkull curses under his breath, then rolls the ship, as he should have been doing all along. He attempts to focus on minimizing their damage; their shields are all but useless under the Atlan onslaught.

  The command crew frantically searches for a world that meets the plot seven requirements. Frazik turns and says, “Regent, I have one; it’s eight hundred lights years away,” He hesitates for a moment, then adds excitedly, “and another at four thousand two hundred.”

  Before Regent Voknor can respond, Lilpax loudly exclaims, “I have one at twenty plus thousand light years, with level four tech, out near the periphery.”

  Voknor sits back in his chair, then questions, “How old is that scan?”

  Lilpax replies, “Only one hundred-seventeen cycles.”

  Regent Voknor considers the dire state his fleet is in, then orders. “Inform the fleet to perform a plot seven maneuver for that periphery planet.”

  While the flagship’s damage control parties rush to the affected areas, the bridge crew hastily begins calculations, then relays instructions to the Primes. Regent Voknor monitors his fleet’s status; Devril’s vessel is carved in two, with no life signs reported, while Pitrax’ craft is smashed, its forward section steaming as it sinks into the waters of the oceans below.

  Voknor stares at his own ship’s status, then orders, “Draw their fire, let the others escape, then go!” Somehow the massive hull breach has been sealed, with crews bolstering the areas structural integrity, during combat!

  The moments tick by as ship after ship of the fleet disengages. The bridge officers share information as soon as they get it. then finally Skylow reports, “The Atlans seem to be preparing for another attack run and, if they hit that damaged section, we will lose the hatchery for sure!”