by Will Crudge
“The council abhors any course of action that involves violence. Many among them still believe that the Arcturians here.” Val gestured towards the ornate shrine. “Never resorted to any form of violence to protect the galaxy. They still believe that peaceful negotiations won the day, and therefore further solidifying their passive beliefs.”
“So, these are the Arcturians? The powerful race of enlightened beings that embraced peace and war simultaneously, and protected the galaxy from invasion… and then they disappeared?” Gerhardt asked.
“It would seem Keltec has covered the bases with you. Excellent!” Val exclaimed, and then gave an approving nod to Keltec.
“But you said Keltec was an Acturian?” Gerhardt asked. He struggled to digest the notion, and he shot comparative glances between the depictions on the shrine, and Keltec’s greenish skin and bulbous oval skull.
“It would be easier to just explain who our true enemies are first. Then we’ll get back to Keltec.” Val pointed to the data chip that was inserted into the right forearm of Gerhardt’s armor.
“Oh, yes.” Gerhardt snapped back into reality, and then raised his arm as if to fire off a weapon from some sort of embedded mechanism in his arm. But instead a fan of light emerged, and then coalesced into a holographic display, that seemed to hover in mid-air. “This is a visual scan feed from a UAHC Frigate doing deep space surveillance. The ship was assigned to scan for potential avenues of approach for suspected pirates known to operate in the fringes of our borders. This region of space has no verified human habitation, so we suspected it was a hotbed for some potential pirate bases.”
The display seemed pretty uneventful. Just a view of stars in the vastness of space. But then there was a fluctuation in the energy scan icon in the lower left of the screen.
“As you can see, we began to detect energy spikes, the likes of which, we’d never seen before. Then keep watching…” Gerhardt paused his words and gestured with his head for the others to look back to the screen.
The energy spike caused the screen to distort for a few seconds, and then the energy readout must have maxed its measurable threshold, because the numbers spiked to all zeros, then began to flash red. Then what appeared to be a tiny blip of light appeared on the screen in a flash. Gerhart zoomed the screen in, and then rewound the footage by a few seconds. When it replayed, the tiny blip was now a massive burst of in descript energy that seemed to explode outward in every direction. But when the energy waves dissipated, the view of some sort of spacecraft filled the spot where the burst had originated.
The spacecraft looked roughly like a boot lying on it’s heal with the toe portion sticking straight up. The end of the vessel where the leg would be inserted into the boot, looked to boast some sort of thruster array of an unknown type. The tip of the toe was a sort of flat plateau that seemed to be some sort of superstructure to serve as a type of bridge or CIC.
“This vessel wasn’t in any of our databases. We sent this footage to Unum for analysis. We figured that the largest builder of spaceship hulls would be able to identify it, but we never heard back from them. At least not before I was sent here,” Gerhardt explained.
Val laughed lightly, and then placed a friendly hand on the Councilman’s shoulder. “Unum received it, alright. That’s exactly why you were summoned here. I’m the Sovereign of Unum, my friend. We could not identify it either, but I had a very good idea of what it may be. So, I was the one who arranged this secret meeting.”
Gerhart’s eyes went huge, and then he cut off the hologram and brought his arm back down to his side. “Unum has a Sovereign?”
“Indeed, my friend. Unum inherited its sovereignty from the remnants of the once mighty nation state of America. The United States of America, to be exact. Maybe you’ve heard of me by my real name. Victor Allen Livingston, Major, United States Air Force.”
“What? That’s just an urban legend. That can’t be!” Gerhardt exclaimed as he shook his head.
“When I was found after a millennium adrift, my AI and I were the only living government officials of what was once the United States. There was an obscure law in place that allotted the remaining holdings of my once great country, to any living official found alive. It was a law that was written as a memorial and was never expected to be enacted. But legally, the entity that would later become the UAHC had no choice to grant me a Charter of Sovereignty, and I was given a large sum of money thereof. I therefore chose the Celeste System as the seat of a new nation. I named it Unum, because the term United States no longer made sense. Unum means United in ancient Latin. I chose to forge a nation where the people themselves were united. The rest is history.”
Gerhardt didn’t realize he was blinking in amazement. As absurd as Val’s—or Victor’s story sounded, it still seemed eerily plausible.
“Gentlemen, may we continue?” Keltec prodded politely.
“Yes, I’m sorry. I’ve been known to be long-winded.” Val chuckled. “Perhaps my old friend, Keltec can better explain what we see here in the footage.” Keltec nodded, and Gerhardt brought the display back up. He got to the image of the stationary vessel and began to play the feed once more.
“This craft wouldn’t answer any hails, nor did it broadcast any signals we could recognize on our scanners. I’ve sped it up a few hours, as you can see. Here we see two Mark 7 fighters passing within ten kilometers to attempt to establish contact,” Gerhardt continued.
The view of two pinprick sized dots appeared in the display. They gave a reference to the massive size of the alien vessel. It had to be twenty some odd kilometers long. Then a bright green arc of energy emerged from the alien craft, and the specs of light, that were once Mark 7 fighters, ceased to exist. Within a few seconds, there was another massive explosion of light and energy. Then the alien vessel was gone.
“Mwargoths. That was a Mwargoth warship. It appeared to be doing some scouting of its own. Nothing like this has been seen in this galaxy since before the dawn of your species. I’m afraid this does not bode well for us… Any of us,” Keltic said solemnly.
New Allies; New Foes
Location: UAHC Heavy Battlecruiser, Hailstorm, Docking Bay; Tangine Interstellar Port
Date Time: Post Interstellar 08/02/4201 0842HRS Local
System: Sol System, Mid Region
Kara was thankful for a good night’s sleep and, even more so, for her MED Nano that prevented the hangover she would have suffered. Hair dark brown hair reflected the light from the fixtures overhead. She walked toward the docking location where the Foehammer, a mine-laying sloop, was berthed. Beside the small, but mighty sloop, was the UDF Cutter, Aegis. She was still amazed at how the sloop and the cutter looked nearly identical if it weren’t for the markings, and additional ordinance hatches that the mine laying sloop boasted.
They were of the same class of hull design, but the type of ship was determined by its specific role. A cutter was essentially a law enforcement vessel, which could also be used for search and rescue. But the sloop was configured for combat applications, and its mission was to lay mines and prepositioned missiles on the flanks of troop transports that went between the mother ships, and their intended terrestrial destinations. The sloops could be used for multiple roles, but she liked the idea of a ship that was purpose built to preserve lives in combat, versus overtly taking them.
The view of her precious LRF-90, the Skull-Crusher, came into view. It was nestled neatly between the two larger ships and was finally standing on its own landing gear. The starboard-side landing strut had been severed roughly twenty-four hours earlier. The armored penetrating round from a large Crimson Battle Mech had knocked it right off. Fortunately, one of her new UAHC Soldier buddies had leapt into action, saved Jimma from a potentially gruesome fate, and even managed to hurl the severed landing leg into the external hold of the Foehammer.
“Well, now she comes to see us, Crusher!” Skull audibly jibed. The sentient NAV system had no body, but his overtly sarcastic tone made up for his
lack of physical expression.
“I love you too, buddy.” Kara smiled, as she walked up and placed one hand on the nose cone of her fighter. She grazed her fingers along its smooth surface, and the casually strolled the length of the fuselage. She always loved the magnificent cobalt blue color of her ship. The ground crew that operated the repair bots must have given her bird a good cleaning, because the glossy properties of the energy resistant coating were shining with a brilliant luster.
“Kara!” Jimma shouted. Kara looked up at the retractable stair case on the port-side of the LRF and saw Jimma casually gliding down the steps. Even with a massive curved sword resting on her right shoulder, Jimma made her descent appear to be that of an angelic encounter. Sasha, the mighty cheetah, came down after.
Kara waved at her friends. “Good morning. You beat me down here, I see! I supposed War Master’s and Zodiacs don’t required much sleep!”
“Quite the contrary, my dear,” Sasha interjected. “We both require a good deal of rest and meditation. Especially after Jimma was hit by an anti-armor projectile, fired in close quarters.”
“Good point. But you still beat me down here, though.”
“We slept on the Skull-Crusher,” Jimma replied.
“Why? This is a Capital ship, and a very well decorated one at that! My guest quarters were spacious and stunning.”
“We Guild Members prefer simple accommodations and privacy. Helps us focus, and not be distracted by material things,” Jimma replied as a matter of fact. Sasha nodded in agreement.
“I guess that makes sense, since you guys hardly own any personal possessions,” Kara acknowledged. “I guess that means you’ve got a ton of money stashed away, if you don’t spend any.”
“We don’t get paid. We don’t need to,” Sasha said. “We receive a stipend for mission expenses, and have access to Unum expense accounts, but we only use them for necessities.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Kara said rhetorically.
“But in other news, we’re all set to meet your contact. Sergeant Griffith, is it?” Jimma asked.
“Yes, that’s him. He’s an old friend of the family, and he’s even helped my father train cadets in the past. Beyond the people aboard the Hailstorm, he’s the only person on this station we can trust.”
“Any idea of what he’ll have to show us?” A man’s voice came from out of the blue.
“Captain David, good morning!” Kara said with a smile. The newly commissioned commanding officer of the Foehammer walked up and stopped among his newly found friends. He had his heavy infantry armor on, and the matte-silver coating looked spotless. He wore a single sidearm, ballistic from what Kara could tell, and Captain Ives crept from behind the huge figure. She wore the same spec armor and uniform that Kara was wearing. She had had a smile on her face, and her short cropped blonde hair seemed like she’s just stepped out of the shower.
Kara’s uniform was now different. She kept her armor but had just gotten it back from being recoated with the standard UAHC matte-silver. Her sub armor uniform was the same matte silver color tone as her new UAHC brethren.
“Well, Colonel?” Ives asked, to reiterate the question. Kara realized she’d been trying to mentally digest the UAHC commission to Lieutenant Colonel she’d just received the night before.
“It would appear the local law enforcement have been gathering evidence of the Crimson presence on Tangine Station. As we already know, they’ve infested many interstellar ports that have hyper gates and HAL’s. What we don’t know is exactly what their end-game is,” Kara said. She noticed she was using a more authoritative tone than what she was used to. She supposed that when you pinned on a new rank insignia, you tended to psychologically evolve into the role. But her initial pin-on insignia, had been rapidly replaced with her new status display system that was now mounted to her upper right arm. The shining silver oak leaf symbolized her new rank.
“Right. We can speculate all day long, but without concrete evidence, then we are just throwing darts with a blindfold,” Jimma said.
“What are darts?” Ives asked. Kara was glad that she had been the one to ask. She had to maintain credibility as a senior field grade officer among the most powerful Soldiers in all of human history. She figured she was one dumb question away from losing her persona.
“Never mind, Captain,” Jimma said with a diplomatic tone. “Point is, we have to know what the Crimson Alliance is going to do with these stations. If we just assume they plan on sabotaging them at some critical point, then we have to support our theory with concrete proof.”
“Which brings us back to your original question, David. Sergeant Griffith has been tracking suspicious murders of legitimate security personnel. He believes some kind of purge is going on. I think that if any station security personnel don’t toe the line, then they get snipped like loose ends. That’s our starting point.” Kara spoke with as much professional vigor as she could without betraying who she really was.
“So, ma’am, where’s our link up point with our contact? Station security and STC must have every square centimeter of Tangine under tight surveillance,” Ives said.
“He’s coming straight to the main airlock,” Kara said.
“The airlock? Ma’am, I’m just a Soldier, but that doesn’t seem smart at all. Our docking assignment is probably the most scrutinized part of this station as far as the Crimson is concerned,” David chimed in.
“Exactly. Hiding in plain sight. The Crimson would be caught off guard if we made direct contact with the locals. They’d either think it was some sort of a distraction, or they’d believe the meeting involved something inconsequential. There’s no way they’d consider that we’d be so stupid as to discuss the Crimson intensions in Tangine in plain sight.” Kara smiled. She’d learned a thing or two from being around Val and Jimma. Sometimes the most covert action is taken in plain sight.
“Is this your idea War Master?” David looked to Jimma for her validation.
“No. It’s mine!” Steve the AI chimed in. His node was still aboard the Foehammer but was tied directly into the audio net of the three suits of armor at present. “I determined that the EM readings at the main airlock entrance were decidedly low. The Crimson must be depending more on visual INTEL then scan. They must know that heavy counter-surveillance measures would be in play, so they’re doing good old-fashioned HUMINT.” Steve was referring to Human-Intelligence gathering, versus digital scans or code interception.
“Right,” Jimma added. “Ironically, the most secure location to exchange INTEL, is right in plain sight. Either the Crimson will downplay the significance, or just be too hesitant to ramp up their EM fields and tip their hands.”
“Well, if bat-shit-crazy is our best course of action, then by all means, ma’am, lead us to the crazy house!” David smiled and gestured for Kara to lead the way.
***
Clarendon Station, one day prior…
The Crimson special operations commander was in disgust. He walked the expanse of the docking bay that was supposed to be where the LRF-90, known as the Skull-Crusher, was supposed to have been seized. The pirate crew had messed it all up for them. Not to mention, the non-Crimson lackey, Sergeant Andrews was supposed to stall long enough for his spec ops company to get into position.
He was tall. Short dark hair and had the sharp facial lines of a Viking warrior. Two of his commandos walked on either side of him with weapons at the ready, and their full-faced helmets donned. He had no helmet on. That was one of many quirks that he and his twin brother shared… helmets gave him a sense of security that dulled his senses. Besides, he also had no neural interface for the helmet to feed data to.
He walked along the bodies of dead pirates and began counting. He’d noticed two were missing. Either they’d run off somehow or been captured. Neither notion really bothered him.
Then he saw a lone pirate. The leader. The dead bald man was face down with a myriad of wounds on his back. Betrayed by his own men. I fuc
king hate coddling these worthless buffoons, he thought.
He shifted his gaze to Sergeant Andrews. He lay on his back and bore a few wounds of his own. The spec ops commander brought up his left forearm and used his manual interface was were a rare sight in combatants that nearly always had embedded neural ones.
He read the faint reading of life in Andrews. Not dead. But close to it. He crouched down and motioned for one of his two goons to come forward. “MED Nano.” He said to himself.
The MED Nano did its job. Andrews opened his eyes after a few moments after the injection. The bots were enough to stabilize his organs and slow down his internal hemorrhaging. His vitals strengthened, and he was lucid.
“Loo- Lieutenant Colonel Peterson?” Andrew spoke wearily. The wrecked man could barely hold his eyes open more than a crack.
“Why did you let them escape?”
“Who? Some-someone… escaped? I don’t understand, sir.” Andrews may have been conscious, but she certainly wasn’t fully coherent.
“The War Master. The fucking wild-ass animal of hers. What did they tell you?” Peterson was none too patient.
“I-I didn’t see any animals. What the hell would a War Master be doing here? Aren’t they all dead or something?”
Peterson realized that Sergeant Andrews may not have actually seen them. He knew the Skull-Crusher was known to be owned and operated by a contract security guard for Unum. Now her company had been conscripted under the title of Unum Defense Force… UDF. He was disgusted by the notion, but he had to focus on his task.
“So this Unum bitch? Was it her who you talked to?”
“Major Elders? Yes,” Andrews replied.
Now I’m getting somewhere! Peterson thought. “Why didn’t you hold her until I could get into position? That was what you were told to do!”
“I-I couldn’t find anything to hold her up any further. I followed protocol and—” Andrews was interrupted by a slap across his face.
