The Reign: Destiny - The Life Of Travis Rand

by Lance Berry

  “I hope so, sir. Any advice before I go?”

  Garroway thought about it a moment. “Always listen to your captain. That’s what got me where I am today. I’m sure it’ll serve you in good stead as well. Take care, son.” With that, he drew Travis into a brief embrace and they hugged goodbye, as old friends do. With a last glance around the hangar bay, Travis picked up his shoulder bag– the same one he had carried with him the very first time he arrived at Sanderson–and boarded the transport.

  “How you doing,” the tall, sandy-blonde officer who had come from the Horizon said as Travis entered the ship. “I’m Tanner Matthews, the Horizon’s chief of security.”

  “Travis Rand, helmsman,” Travis replied as he shook the hand which had been offered him. Matthews reclaimed his hand and used it to pull a dsp from his flight jacket’s pocket. “I just need you to tag this with your thumb-print, Travis. This acknowledges that you’re transferred to the ship on this date.”

  “Sure,” Travis said and pressed his thumb against the faceplate. “Aren’t we supposed to do this after we’ve officially touched down aboard ship?”

  “Yeah, but you’ll come to find that I try to be as efficient as possible. We’re both here now, so why waste time?” He then tabbed a couple of keys on the dsp and raised the device slightly closer to his mouth. “Let the record show that on this date, January 4th 2189, Lieutenant-Commander Travis Rand is officially entered into the ship’s registry as secondary helmsman. Witness: Lieutenant-Commander Tanner Matthews, security chief.”

  Travis’ brow furrowed as Matthews slid the dsp back into his pocket. “’Secondary helmsman’? I thought, with my rank–“

  “Sorry, but it’s Captain’s orders,” Matthews interjected. “He believes in the dues system, and you haven’t anted up yet. There’s a Lieutenant JG who’s ahead of you on the flight roster, and Captain Christenson doesn’t think it would be fair for someone to jump ahead of them, no matter what the Assay Office back home thinks. And you’ll find that the brass tend to give the Captain a lot of leeway and autonomy in his decisions regarding the running of his ship.” Matthews turned to the helm and took a seat in the pilot’s chair. “Don’t worry…David can be hard-assed when he wants to be, but for the most part he’s a very fair man. You pull your weight, get the job done, you’ll find yourself moving up the ranks faster than a cat near a ladder with a firecracker lit up its ass.”

  Travis considered what Matthews had said, and decided it would be best not to make waves. He didn’t know Christenson personally yet, and for all he knew there might be a greater reason to his decision than what he could see. He sat down in the co-pilot’s seat as Matthews went through the pre-flight check, and soon enough the transport doors closed snug and tight, and the vessel lifted off to find its mother berth.

  After touching down in the Horizon’s hangar bay, the two men disembarked. As soon as Travis stepped out of the egress doors, his jaw fell open. This ship’s hangar was nearly double the size of the Archimedes’, and there were two levels to it, separated by a thick grate which ran the length of the deck. DFCs were being raised and lowered through several large sliding openings in the grate by magnetic winches, and as he focused on this, it was only then that Travis realized the DFCs themselves were all of a type he had never seen before!

  “Never been aboard a Heavy Cruiser like this one, huh?” Matthews said proudly. Travis slowly refocused on him, not even realizing he had stopped walking in order to take everything in, and nodded mutely. Matthews walked back to him and pointed as he talked. “That’s the repair deck upstairs, for DFCs and transports. The grating’s made of a relatively new metal called forced titanium. I don’t know if you noticed, but our hull is slightly darker than the average Heavy Cruiser.”

  Travis absentmindedly nodded a “yes”.

  Matthews couldn’t help but let a brief chuckle escape his lips. “F.T. is really titanium refolded, forced over a few hundred thousand times, and other elements are added to it in the process–among them Einsteinium, the same thing which goes into the forging of the LaPlacian Lattices that allow our ships to generate wormholes. F.T. is much more resistant to Calvorian masers, which as you know, were always a bear for our ships’ standard hulls to deal with.”

  He gestured for Travis to follow him, and headed for the egress doors. Travis readjusted his shoulder bag to his other arm and hurried to keep pace as he followed Matthews into the corridor outside. “We were secretly refitted with forced titanium last year at Hephaestus,” the security chief went on. So were about a hundred of our sister ships, but no one knows yet. We’ve been keeping it on the q.t., so the Calvorians don’t get wind of it ‘til it’s too late for them. The DFCs are brand new Tyrant-1 Seekers… state of the art weaponry, navigation, and capable of jumping to three times the speed of light. How much did you read up on this ship before you were transferred here, anyway?” he asked as they walked through the nearly deserted corridor. Travis wasn’t surprised that there were few crewmembers down on this level; hangar deck was usually only traversed by those who worked there.

  “I only found out I was being transferred yesterday,” Travis replied. “I’ve read what technical manuals have been declassified, which actually isn’t a lot. I know the basic deck layout, I know you have science labs and a sickbay like most ships–“

  “Sickbay with separate infirmary and surgical offices now,” Matthews corrected. “We’ve also got a few other things going on you might not be aware of. Don’t get me wrong; I’ve heard nothing but good things about Captain Garroway and the Archimedes, but trust me, this is a step up.”

  They reached a lift and as they entered, Travis marveled at the fact that even these were more spacious than the ones aboard his former ship. “Deck twelve,” Matthews told the ODC as the doors closed. The ship’s smart ware recognized the order and the lift instantly began to ascend. Matthews was lost in thought a moment, then a sly smile played across his lips. “How many people did you room with aboard the Archimedes?”

  “Only two,” Travis revealed with pride. “We had a relatively small crew complement, so space wasn’t quite at a premium as it was on the older ships.”

  “Two people, huh?” Matthews nodded. “You’ll have your own quarters here. Every crewmember does.”

  Travis wasn’t sure he had heard him correctly. “What do you mean, ‘every crewmember’? The space considerations for the crew complement you have…”

  “This is the flagship of the fleet, Travis,” Matthews said in a cool and collected manner, as if it really weren’t any big thing. “For the types of missions we go on, for the durations we’re sometimes away from Earth, it wouldn’t do to have people getting into arguments with dorm mates. Everyone here has their own room.” He turned back to the doors as the lift came to a halt, content to let Travis ponder this fact as the doors opened and he stepped out onto deck twelve.

  Travis followed him out, and felt more at ease to be caught up in the bustle of a busier corridor. Personnel headed up and down the wide hall, rounding turns, leaning against the walls chatting. Matthews said his hellos to some they passed as he led Travis to a room nearly halfway down the corridor, just before a bend in the path. The room’s name plaque read:

  Rand, Travis

  Lt. Cmdr.

  D12 – 4A

  Travis allowed himself a brief prideful smile as Matthews once again addressed the ODC. “Computer, this is Lieutenant-Commander Tanner Matthews, security chief. Base code 476-D-2-D-Alpha-3. Code door keypad for room four-alpha on deck twelve to bioprint.”

  “Acknowledged,” the synthesized female voice responded as an answering chime sounded. Matthews pointed to the thumb pad on the left side of the door, and Travis placed his right thumb to it and held it there a moment. “Bio-printing complete. Room occupant identified as Rand, Travis Xavier, service number I-N-577-Alpha.”

  Matthews nodded again, and Travis removed his thumb from the plate. With the –clack!- of the lock unlatching, the door slid aside
. Travis stepped into the room and the lights came up automatically.

  The room was a decent size, perhaps a few feet larger than what he had known at Sanderson or aboard the Archimedes, but there was only one bed in it. He had his own desk with personal vid-com, his own closet. There was a dresser, a nightstand, a recycle dump-chute on the wall–and even a private bathroom with a shower!

  Travis felt a tug at his shoulder. He turned to find Matthews pulling his shoulder bag from around his arm to set it on the floor. “Not for nothing, but we do need to get a move-on. The Captain’s not going to wait all day.”

  Travis nodded and followed Matthews back out into the corridor. As they left the room, the lights went out and the door slid shut. Travis glanced back at the door. “Lock,” he said, and the ODC smart ware instantly obeyed, cycling the lock back into place. Matthews snickered in amusement. “It’s the 22nd Century, Rand. No one steals from anybody anymore.”

  Travis shrugged as he followed Matthews back down the corridor. “It’s an old habit. Once a New Yorker, always a New Yorker.”

  Chapter 32

  Matthews led Travis to war room A on deck three, another less-traversed part of the ship, due to the fact that it primarily only housed the two main war rooms and offices of the senior staff.

  The doors opened, and Travis felt a sense of awe as he finally stood in the same room with Captain David Christenson, the man who held the record for most continual victories against enemy forces.

  Christenson got to his feet, and Travis could see that he was a fairly tall man, although not much more so than him. He had a well-chiseled, handsome face with dark hair and an almost rakish look about him…as if he might be getting into some mischief at any time. He was modestly muscular, but he carried himself in such a manner that Travis had no doubt the man was capable of handling any situation that might arise.

  To Travis’ surprise, Christenson walked around the length of the rectangular conference table to greet him. “Ah, this must be our new helmsman,” he said in a light English accent.

  Travis immediately came to attention and saluted. “Lieutenant- Commander Travis Rand, reporting for duty, sir!”

  There was a slight snicker from one end of the table, but Travis didn’t turn to look; he was determined to keep his attention focused solely on his new captain.

  Christenson nodded, mildly impressed. But instead of returning the salute, he extended his hand to Travis. “Lieutenant-Commander, we’ve all been through the Academy, and we’ve all gotten to where we are. You’ll find that although I run a tight ship, I tend to flex on some issues.”

  Travis looked at the hand for a moment, then finally relaxed a bit and shook Christenson’s hand in return. “Much better. Welcome aboard, Mister Rand.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Travis answered, trying not to let his voice shake. For the first time in a long time, he was actually nervous about being around a higher ranking officer. David Christenson had been his idol ever since Travis first heard of him, and he couldn’t believe that he was now in the same room with him, let alone serving aboard the same ship! It wasn’t until Christenson patted him on the shoulder, an expectant look in his eye, that Travis realized he had been shaking his hand a little longer than the norm. He quickly withdrew, and Christenson smiled gratefully. “Glad to see that Tanner’s lack of actual piloting accreditation didn’t detract from your safe arrival,” the captain quipped as he headed back to his seat at the head of the table.

  “Quiet, you,” Matthews jabbed back as he took a seat at the opposite end, and gestured for Travis to sit in a chair to his right. There were a couple of laughs at the two officers’ playfulness, and Travis felt a bit more at ease for it as he sat down.

  “This is my first officer and wife, Mara,” Christenson said as he began to make the round of introductions. Mara smiled pleasantly, and Travis was absolutely stunned at how beautiful she was. As a matter of fact, she was drop-dead gorgeous, with expressive brown eyes and auburn-brunette hair which fell just past her shoulders…

  Travis almost gulped aloud as he remembered where he had seen this woman before. It was just over a decade earlier, when he had completed his plebe year at Sanderson and had gone to visit Westview with Carver Mackee. Carver had shouted a “compliment” at an ample-bosomed female upper-classman, then moved out of the way in time for her to only see Travis and thereby conclude that he was the one who had yelled. Yes, this woman who sat up at the far end of the table to the captain’s right was now of course somewhat older, but Travis was certain it was her. He said his hellos as he stole a surreptitious glance downward…

  Yep, those are the tits all right, he thought as he tried to not let his eyes linger too long. It had been nearly fifteen years since they’d “met”, but they were still impossibly perfect. Travis met her eyes again so that she did not notice him looking, which might in turn have caused her to recognize him.

  “This is our chief engineer, Jamie Hughes,” Christenson was saying. Travis forced himself to refocus, and turned his head to Christenson’s left, where a very attractive, young blonde sat. Travis was shocked at how young she looked; she couldn’t be into her mid-twenties yet…she was just a kid!

  The “kid” noticed Travis’ stare, and was obviously used to it. Without recrimination in her voice, she offered, “I’m a graduate of the Theta School. It’s a military-run organization dedicated to developing those of us with more gifted intellects than…” she searched for a term. “…standard humans.”

  Travis’ eyes widened in amazed realization. “No offense meant, but you’re one of those people the press dubbed ‘4-D babies’?”

  Jamie did seem a bit miffed at the use of the term, and returned a curt nod. In the mid-2180’s, it became more widely known that a group of humans had begun to sprout up who were more intellectually acute than most human beings. Many of them were smart enough to understand the intricacies of theoretical physics and how and why the universe worked, from exceedingly young ages. But with such intelligence, it was whispered, came a type of arrogance…this new evolving breed of human, which some dubbed intellectus superior, was something which the common man felt threatened by. It was believed by some that these people would attempt to subjugate the standard human to the point of slavery. The panic was brief, however, and quickly passed within a few years.

  “How old are you?” Travis asked.

  “Nineteen,” Jamie said simply.

  “Wow,” Travis said, impressed. Christenson cleared his throat, intent on getting through introductions. “And this is our chief medical officer, Benjamin Williams.”

  Travis allowed himself a smile. “Long time, Ben.” And now he realized that it had been Ben who snickered when he saluted Christenson. The doctor had always felt the need to make light of Travis on certain issues, in what he saw as an attempt to get Travis himself to lighten up.

  “Too long, my friend. Glad to have you on board,” the doctor replied. “I take it you two know each other,” Christenson said wryly. Ben nodded. “A few years back, I was stationed at a M.A.S.H. on Titan, some miles out from a Watch Station. Some of our troops positioned there when the Station came under attack were injured, our young Mister Rand here being among them. During his recuperation, we came to know each other quite well.” He pointed at Travis as he addressed Christenson. “This is a good man you’ve got here, David. You’d better treat him well.”

  Christenson nodded in consideration of the doctor’s words, then looked back to Travis. “It’s not often that the Doctor gives high praise to anyone. But if he’s vouching for you, I guess I’ll have to take his statement under advisement. Tanner, you haven’t taken Travis around the ship yet, have you?”

  “Just to his quarters so he could drop off his bag.”

  Christenson nodded and focused his attention on Travis once more. “We don’t have you scheduled for a shift until oh-four hundred tomorrow morning. Why don’t you relax a bit, take a tour of the ship–oh, and recycle that jacket you have on. It might sow
dissent if I have my helmsman strolling around wearing Archimedes patches.”

  Travis glanced at the shoulder of his jacket, which did indeed bear the emblem of his former ship. “Yes, sir,” he acknowledged.

  “How about we meet in the mess hall at fourteen hundred hours?” Christenson mentioned. Travis nodded in acceptance. “Sounds like a plan to me, sir,” he replied, already feeling more at ease here among the senior staff.

  “Very well. See you then,” the captain said with a broad smile. “Dismissed.”

  Travis stood and gave a general nod of respect to the senior staff. As he left the conference room and the doors closed behind him, he finally realized what it was about David Christenson that seemed so familiar. It had to do not only with the accent, but with the calm and cool manner in which he carried himself. That attitude, that almost boyish charm…Travis had seen something like that before, in old vids from the 21st Century he used to watch when he was a young boy.

  Christenson reminded him of James Bond.

  Later that evening, Travis stepped out of lift 15-D on deck thirty-one, where the ship’s computer told him the mess hall was. He was amazed that even though it was near dinner time, the corridor was so crowded. Personnel of all types–enlisted, officers, tech maintenance and others– hustled this way and that, most of them seeming to head in the direction of the mess hall. He reached the mess, but was surprised that even through the supposedly soundproof doors, he heard music. The doors opened as he approached, and his eyes went wide as he stepped inside.

  The room was massive, even for a ship’s mess. It easily took up half the deck, and although there were still the familiar remnants of a mess hall, this was truly anything but. There were two large bay windows looking out onto space–the stars outside seeming to scroll upwards in constant motion, although it was in actuality the inner hull of the Horizon which spun around as the centrifugal force of the movement simulated gravity for the ship borne crew. The hall possessed several dozen circular tables with bar stools placed at them, in addition to the standard rectangular tables lined up in rows. There had never been music playing in any mess hall Travis had ever eaten at in his life–was that The Andrews Sisters piped in over the ODC? The lighting wasn’t bright white as it usually was in standard messes, but a cool and subdued neon blue. There was a semi-circular bar/grill in the center of the room, and the words Down Time hung above the bar, a holographic display written in blue neon.