Right Ascension

by David Derrico

  Silently surveying the scene, the Admiral looked around the bridge and regarded his assembled officers. Seated in front of him and to his left at the pilot’s station was helmsman Zach Wallace, a cocky young ex-fighter pilot chosen expressly for his unparalleled piloting skills. His bravery and ability were matched only by his recklessness and bravado. He looked the part, too—dark, unkempt hair, evidently just this side of regulations, and an ever-present smirk that hinted of confidence fostered by genius. Daniel could tell by the gleam in his eyes that the young Lieutenant currently wanted nothing more than the thrill of the opportunity to chase after the unfamiliar ship through some dense asteroid field.

  Seated to Zach’s right was Lieutenant Nathan Latimer. Nathan was a Fedoran, and hailed from the Cygnus System. Fedorans were unusually similar to humans—they were bipedal and breathed oxygen. Unlike humans, however, Fedorans had but one arm, which jutted from the center of their roughly cylindrical bodies and ended in eight, half-meter-long tentacles. Their skin was a dull brown in color, and they lived several times longer than the average 135-year life span of humans. Ironically, Daniel thought their wrinkled skin and faces made even the youngest of them look rather aged.

  The presence of aliens aboard human Confederation ships, while rare, was not unheard of. Most alien species were so different from humans that they would not only be unable to survive on human ships without protective suits, but they would be completely unable to operate the same controls or read the same viewscreens as humans. Even relatively similar species would usually experience adverse effects in human environments over an extended period of time due to subtle changes in air composition and pressure, gravity, ambient light, and many other environmental factors. For this reason, nearly all aliens in the Navy were assigned to ships specially designed for their species. Luckily, Fedorans were able to survive comfortably in human environments, and their acute vision was sensitive to visual and ultraviolet light. Admiral Atgard had hand-picked Nathan to join the Apocalypse's crew not only for his loyalty and knowledge, but also for his abilities, exceptional even by Fedoran standards.

  Serving as the navigator and astrometric technician, Nathan’s memory was photographic: he was able to recall detailed star charts from systems he had visited years before with startling precision. He also possessed phenomenal mathematical abilities that allowed him to calculate jump points and course headings nearly as well as any computer. Only marginally older than Daniel’s 64 years, Nathan appeared much older. His bald, leathery head was spotted and furrowed, and deep-set wrinkles framed his perceptive brown eyes. Solemn and quiet, Lieutenant Latimer gave no outward impression of his thoughts as his gaze shifted between the viewscreen and his navigation panel. Daniel surmised that he was probably trying to ascertain the origin of the newcomers’ vessel.

  Shifting his gaze to the stalwart, dark-skinned man to his left, Daniel studied his Tactical Officer, Lieutenant Commander Dex Rutcliffe. A serious and impassioned warrior, Dex was a master of military strategy and a tactician of eminence and renown within the Confederation. A former elite Marine Commando, Dex had been promoted and made a Naval officer when it was realized that his keen tactical mind could not be wasted in the role of an infantryman. Though merely a young Lieutenant at the time, Dex Rutcliffe’s innovative ideas, now taught at Academies throughout the Confederation, were responsible for routing the Vr’amil’een Armada in a skirmish some 15 years ago. Lieutenant Commander Rutcliffe was a robust, well-built man in his early forties whose stern countenance befit a warrior of his stature. His eyes never moved from the tactical display panel in front of him, and Daniel felt relieved that if this encounter were to turn hostile, Dex already would have run through a score of mental simulations and come up with a dozen viable strategies for every possible contingency.

  Seated to Daniel’s right was his First Officer, Commander Anastasia Mason. Daniel had known Anastasia since their days together aboard his Corvette, the Excalibur. She was his First Officer then, and he requested—rather, demanded—that she be allowed to accompany him when he took command of the Apocalypse upon its commission in 3033. Daniel found her empathetic perspective to be an invaluable counterpoint to his methodical and analytical approach. Though brilliant, Commander Mason relied more on intuition and gut feeling than facts or numbers when formulating strategies or opinions. The Admiral was wise enough to realize that her input was often beneficial, and that their two styles complemented each other perfectly.

  Daniel had first met Anastasia when she joined him aboard the Excalibur at age 24. Only a few years out of the Academy then, Daniel could already sense that the young Ensign possessed the qualities of a great leader. She moved up the ranks quickly, and was his First Officer by age 35. Now, at 49, Commander Mason had an air of regality about her. Tall and slender, with porcelain-clear skin and long, full, jet-black hair cascading down her back, Anastasia could, in another setting, have easily passed for a Queen or ruler of some aristocratic society. She bore herself with a stately charm, but her genuine warmth and empathy kept her from ever seeming distant, aloof, or elitist. As Daniel studied her, she turned to meet his discerning gaze and silently conveyed her anxiety. Daniel knew from years of experience that situations such as this one made her uneasy—she knew nothing about the aliens except the data flicking across the screen from the inconclusive sensor scans. She had no inkling of their motivations, their feelings, or their culture. Always adroitly adept at interpersonal communication, psychology, and empathy, Commander Mason must have felt as if she were entering this situation bound and blindfolded. She stared at Daniel helplessly, unable to offer counsel, nor even venture a guess as to the next move of the aliens aboard the strange silver ship that floated silently before them in the void.

  “They’re transmitting the welcome message, Admiral,” reported Dex.

  Daniel stared at the viewscreen and wondered if the aliens would be able to receive it. Though the Indomitable was broadcasting at every known wavelength of the electromagnetic spectrum, it was still nothing more than a shot in the dark to presume that the aliens’ instruments would be able to decode the transmission. And although the message was, theoretically, universal, consisting of prime numbers, pi, and other such mathematical encodings, there was no guarantee the aliens could comprehend it. Even if they could decipher it, Daniel wondered, who was to say that the number three didn’t mean “go to hell” in their language?

  “How long do you think it will take them to respond?” asked Zach, spinning in his seat to look at the Admiral. “And how will they let us know if they understand or not?”

  “They will find a way,” replied Anastasia. “Simple ideas—understanding, curiosity, love—are shared by all sentient species. They might not be able to ask for a cup of coffee, but we’ll be able to communicate somehow. It just might take a little time to get the details ironed out.”

  Nodding, Daniel added, “Remember when we—accidentally—made first contact with the Slarthi? We were just on our way through the Sirius System when we literally almost bumped right into them.”

  “Of course,” replied the Commander. “How could I forget? We, of course, weren’t equipped to deal with meeting a new species. We didn’t have the people or the equipment that we were supposed to …”

  “But in the end,” continued Admiral Atgard, “we were able to communicate enough to not only convey our mutual peaceful intentions, but also to start learning a little about each other. The breakthrough in communication,” Daniel added, looking around the bridge, “came when we—accidentally—sent them Anastasia’s recipe for chicken soup from the food synthesizers!”

  Everyone chuckled as Anastasia finished, “It turned out, with the information we had already sent them, they were able to synthesize it themselves. Once again, my cooking skills saved the galaxy from certain annihilation!” She flashed a wry smile at Daniel.

  “That’s why I made sure you were transferred here,” Daniel joked. “I just couldn’t bear the thought of exploring th
e fringes of the known galaxy for years on end without your chicken soup around.”

  Once again, the crew laughed lightheartedly at their banter. “So that’s why you keep her around, eh, Admiral?” Zach asked facetiously. “I thought it was for her stunning good looks.” He beamed a cocky smirk in her direction.

  “You’re lucky you’re a good pilot,” retorted Anastasia, smiling subtly. “Because if looks were a requirement, you would have been reassigned to a cargo frigate to haul fertilizer to Lethe Minor a long time ago.”

  “Oooooh … crashed and burned, eh, Zach?” laughed Dex. “Still having trouble with the ladies, I see.”

  Slightly pink from embarrassment, but still sporting his ever-present smirk, Zach turned back to the viewscreen. Quickly changing the subject, he began, “So … how long has it been since—”

  He stopped there as everyone’s eyes became focused on the viewscreen. There was activity from the alien ship.

  Peering ahead, the Admiral’s face quickly grew serious once again. “Dex, magnify the viewscreen. Center between the aliens and the nose of the Indomitable.”

  As the viewscreen snapped into focus to show a closer view of the area, they could see that a bright lance of light had shot from the nose of the alien ship and remained suspended in space, reaching out to rest upon the nose of the Indomitable.

  “Dex, what is that?” asked the Admiral.

  “I don’t know, sir,” replied Dex. “But it appears to be of low intensity … it’s certainly not damaging the Indomitable. Perhaps some sort of sensor beam, or maybe just a spotlight of some sort?” he ventured.

  “Well—which is it?” asked Daniel.

  “I … I don’t know. It’s not … light, per se … . Sir, I don’t know what in the hell it is.” His gruff voice carried with it just a hint of concern.

  “Daniel, you had better take a look at this,” interjected Anastasia. She hit a button on her control panel and the viewscreen switched to a less-magnified view, showing the Indomitable in its entirety. The narrow beam of light was still visible. The Admiral followed it from the alien ship to the nose of the Indomitable and …

  He could see it clearly emerging from the tail end of the Indomitable.

  Before the Admiral could respond, a large white ball of light shot from the nose of the alien ship. Traveling quickly, and riding the narrow beam of light, it sped toward the nose of the Indomitable. As it reached the front of the ship, it disappeared, but moments later, a series of explosions began to ripple from deep within the Indomitable's hull. Beginning at the nose and convulsing down the length of the ship, small arcs of incandescent fire and plasma shot out from within the interior of the massive vessel. Within an instant, the ball of light had passed out the rear of the Juggernaut and the explosions had reached the tail of the mighty colossus. For a long second, nothing stirred, and then, all at once, the Indomitable, the invulnerable symbol of human Naval superiority, flashed into an immense ball of blinding white plasma and was completely destroyed.

  • • •

  Mouth agape, stunned, and unable to move, the Admiral and his crew watched helplessly as the alien vessel turned and shot away back in the direction from which it had come. Where, moments ago, a ship the size of a planet, hundreds of fighters, and a sleek alien vessel had resided, the viewscreen now showed nothing but Earth, small and vulnerable, nestled amongst the stars that were helpless to protect her from this new enemy.

  The words came out slowly, laboriously. “Life signs … ?” The Admiral’s voice cracked uncharacteristically.

  There was a momentary silence, which hung like a leaden blanket over the bridge crew. “N–None, sir,” stammered Dex. “None at all.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The room was dark, illuminated only by the glow from the holo-vid projector that radiated a three-dimensional picture of the massacre in the center of the room. Admiral Atgard’s ashen face, illuminated by the pale light from the projector, looked as though it were carved from a bleached slab of limestone. He stared at—almost through—the image, which for the hundredth time showed the last moments of the Indomitable and the awful explosion that had consumed her. Fingering a key on the remote, the Admiral watched as the holo-vid projected a close-up view of his son’s tiny fighter. His keen eyes staring at the display, Daniel looked at the cockpit of the SF-357. He was not completely sure it wasn’t just some trick of reflective lighting on the canopy, but as the projection slowly replayed the last moments of Chad’s life, just before the aliens fired, Daniel swore he could see a broad smile on his son’s face just before the explosion hit.

  • • •

  It was not until the third signal that Daniel realized that someone was waiting at his door. “Come in,” he muttered weakly.

  The door slid open to reveal Commander Mason, her expressive face nearly as pallid as the Admiral’s own. “May I … ?” she asked.

  “Yes, yes, please,” Daniel answered, flicking off the ghastly display and bringing the room lights up as Anastasia entered his quarters. “What is it?”

  “I … I just wanted to see how you were, Dan,” Anastasia said, looking directly into her old friend’s eyes. Her voice was calm and soothing, possessing a strength that seemed to somehow buoy the Admiral’s doleful spirits.

  “Well … I … I don’t know. I’m okay.” He looked up at Anastasia, and could tell she was as unconvinced as he was. “You have to look at these things stoically …”

  “You don’t have to put up a front with me, Dan,” she said. “We’ve known each other for too long; we’ve been through too much.”

  “I know … I know,” he said weakly, his voice a far cry from his normally authoritative, resolute tone. “What can I say? They spent 250 years building that ship. They put half a billion people on it. They put the best soldiers …”

  Anastasia gazed silently at the Admiral. Tears welled within his bloodshot eyes.

  “They put my son. He was 21 years old, Anastasia.” His voice sounded as if he was pleading her to bring him back, as if she could. “Twenty-one … he had so much ahead of him … I was so proud …” The first tear rolled down Daniel’s cheek. “I am so proud.”

  Anastasia walked slowly to her friend’s side. Sitting on the couch beside him, she put her arm around him and let his forehead rest on her neck. The tears were falling now, and Daniel was powerless to stop them, his hands shaking as he clutched a picture of Chad in his right hand. He could sense that the tears were welling in Anastasia’s eyes, too, but that she struggled to fight them back, not out of embarrassment, but out of the desire to be strong for her friend, more in need now than she had ever known.

  “You know, Daniel, I spoke to Chad two days ago, when he learned of his assignment.”

  Daniel’s head perked up. “You did? When?”

  “When he called for you. You were still coming over on the shuttle from the Indomitable, from your meeting with Fleet Admiral Cole. I spoke to him for a while until you arrived.”

  “Yeah? What did he say?” asked the Admiral, beginning to rein back the tears that had fallen freely across his face. “He sure was happy that day, wasn’t he, Anastasia? He was so happy he was going to the Indomitable.” Daniel’s face brightened slightly as he remembered how vivacious his son’s voice had sounded. After all, he reminded himself, it was exceedingly rare for a cadet to be assigned to the Confederation flagship directly out of the Academy. It was an honor reserved for only a handful of the most highly-qualified cadets.

  “Yes, he sure was happy. But that’s not what we talked about.”

  “No?” asked the Admiral curiously. “What did he say?”

  “He said he was happy that he had been assigned to the Indomitable, of course, but he also told me that his assignment was not what he was most proud of.”

  “What was that?” asked the Admiral.

  “He said he was most proud,” said Anastasia slowly, “of being your son.”

  • • •

  The lights were off; all wa
s quiet, yet Daniel could not sleep. He stared at the inky blackness of the ceiling, the blackness that seemed to be alive and palpable as it threatened to consume him. The light from faraway stars struggled in vain to dimly illuminate the room, and Daniel strained his eyes against the darkness and tried to view the two portraits that hung on the far wall. Obscured by a dark shadow, his son’s likeness was invisible, swallowed up by the same gloom that hung over the Admiral’s soul. Peering into the blackness, Daniel wondered how many other mothers and fathers were doing the same thing, mourning the loss of their own sons or daughters in their own way somewhere. Glancing to the other portrait, he knew of one in particular who would be.

  Daniel’s thoughts turned to his wife, Tara. Although he had been unable to contact her since their son’s death, he knew his wife could not be taking it well. Sensitive and caring, Tara loved nothing more in the world than Daniel and Chad, their only child. Daniel wondered if she really knew what happened when she saw the explosion from Earth. Their home in Key West, Florida, would have been facing the Indomitable when it was obliterated. Being able to see a starship flying hundreds of thousands of kilometers away with the naked eye was truly an awesome sight; watching that starship explode in a fireball the size of Mars must have been horrendously spectacular; knowing your son was killed by that explosion was about the most painful experience a human being could endure.

  Daniel tried to clear his head. He could not contact his wife, as he was still cloaked and unable to send radio transmissions, knowing that if the awful alien ship had known they were there, the Apocalypse, too, would be nothing but debris.

  The Apocalypse. Commissioned just recently, in 3033, the sleek vessel was absolutely state of the art. While the Indomitable was the mighty, highly visible monument to human Naval excellence, the Apocalypse was the silent technological marvel that, being built many years later, possessed technology that made some of the systems on the Indomitable look like antiques. While the Indomitable took over 250 years to build, and thus used some technology from almost 300 years ago, there was not one system aboard the Apocalypse that was anything less than the most advanced technology in the known galaxy. Although the physical size of the Indomitable was undoubtedly awe-inspiring, Admiral Atgard knew the Apocalypse was actually the more impressive vessel.