“Send the order for the crew of the Galaxy to form for immediate departure. Advance the resupplying. Two months’ supply. Full armament. Inform the CV Indigo and Vega to join up with the Galaxy. Lastly, send messages to Sub-Commodores Crawford and Sawyer. Have them meet me onboard the Galaxy as soon as they can get there. We’re going to need both of them.”
***
"Is this a joke?"
Sub-commodores Crawford and Sawyer sat directly across from him in the bridge of the Galaxy. The bridge had been designed by Marcus himself and had been built to his designation. The bridge was built in a traditional top view on the Galaxy itself. It was a split level bridge, unique in its kind. Marcus had a strong belief that to be a good Captain, and even more so an Admiral, he needed to have eyes on every aspect of the field, but more so, to have his eyes and ears on those who he delegated responsibilities to.
His own Captain’s chair sat squarely in the middle of the bridge, and from that vantage point, he could see to the upper and lower decks of this bridge simultaneously. The chair itself could float up or down to be closer to either deck. The top deck of the bridge, which was the smaller deck, was home to all of the science officers as well as the hands-off engineers that reported from the engineering section directly to Marcus. The upper deck also had the non-combat sensors and communications. The lower and larger deck held all the battle sensors, displays and communication, as well as the weapons specialists and the majority of the outside display screens. Marcus' chair could slide easily from deck to deck as needed. He had designed the bridge to allow both natures of the ship to be readily available to each other, both war and peace in one room. During non-critical moments, the two sections had large stair cases to each other. In the heat of combat though, the staircases receded and the separation worked to allow the combat section to work without interference. And Marcus had eyes on everything.
He also had a multitude of screens at his chair, all set up in front of him like a table that could tilt up to face him while he sat, or to function as a conference table, as he was using now. He glanced up at his two sub-commodores and smiled.
Graham Crawford was as close to being a best friend as an isolated military leader could have. Marcus’ adult life had been one straight forward progress into the file and rank. If his days weren’t spent in battle, they were spent in preparing for them. He had never made friends easily and his quick rise had shunned others. But Graham had always been there for him. He was a large African man, balding to the point that he kept his head shaved. He laughed a lot and enjoyed telling dirty jokes, but only to those who would be insulted by them. He was older than Marcus, but had always respected him as his superior. Graham had risen through the ranks on his own merit, though. He was an expert hand-to-hand combatant and an even better leader of ground combat troops. Graham routinely commanded ship marines and had perfected ship-to-ship boarding on squad levels. He also enjoyed cursing and swearing in combat, and laughing at everything he said. There was no situation Marcus would go into that he didn’t want Graham there with him.
Jayne Sawyer was the opposite. The tall Asian woman, tall for non-Dominion standards, was quiet and calm. She was nearly six-feet two inches, a good two inches taller than Marcus. She wore her slick-black hair in one large braid down her back. She was a skilled spacial navigator with an innate ability to think clearly in the 3D of space combat. She was best in a role commanding carriers and fighters but was also a genius in general fleet movement during battle. Marcus had personally requested her on many missions and had relied on her ice cold nerves in helping him make decisions. She was also one of the few people he knew that laughed willingly at all of Graham’s jokes. For this reason they all got along well.
“I'm afraid it’s not. This information has come to me directly from the High Council,” Marcus explained. “It even bypassed me to get to them.”
“So this is the real deal?” Graham asked.
“We don’t know that yet. We are being sent to figure out if it is the real deal and then, mind the word, deal with it.”
“Do we have an explanation for these gravimetric anomalies in all these readings?” Jayne asked.
“The initial report has this data coming from black holes, but there are no black holes in that system. Not even one,” Marcus replied. He virtually shuffled through some of the documents on his screen, picked one out, and slid it to her. “This one here has even the scientists confused, comparing the readings to hook cones, but at a scope far larger than anyone has recorded before.”
“How big?” Graham asked, moving over next to Jayne to study the document.
“Two hundred miles wide,” Marcus replied.
Graham whistled and looked at Jayne. “That would be a very big ship.”
“So what’s the plan?” Graham asked.
Marcus brought up a few more screens, and slid them over to each of his sub-commodores.
“We gear up and head out there. Corvettes Indigo and Vega should be in-system in two or three days’ time. Vega is still configured for a torpedo boat and the Indigo is setup as a shield ship. Load them both up to the very max with ammo and flack. I want each of you to Captain a CV. The Galaxy will serve as an expanded carrier for this mission. We will then make two jumps and find out what is going on in that Gemini system.”
“Sounds simple enough,” Graham said.
“Our missions usually turn out being anything but simple,” Jayne pointed out.
“Well damn, woman, they’re still a hell of a time,” he said, grinning.
Jayne shook her head, but she was smiling, too.
“Graham, take the Indigo and twenty men of your own choosing. Volunteers only, but again, no information. Jayne, the Vega is yours to command, but take only a skeleton crew. I want every inch of that boat loaded with torpedoes.”
“What are we supposed to tell the men and women?” Jayne asked. Graham had been thinking the same thing.
“What’s the usual BS line?” Marcus asked.
“Military exercise?” both his sub-commodores asked at the same time.
Marcus pointed at them in agreement.
“We also need to be on our way in three days,” Marcus added.
“Whoa, why the hurry?” Graham asked.
“The longer we wait around here, the more word of this little expedition will begin leaking out. There is a certain cult I rather dislike that would take this news and make our lives a living hell.”
He brought out another virtual document and slid it towards his two friends.
“Read that document completely. Then do your own research. This group is going to be a thorn in our side, either now or when we make it back. I think it’s time for Alioth to deal with them. I would like some suggestions.”
“I hate to ask the obvious here, but, could this just be some Dominion mess, or, maybe even some Commonwealth experiment? Even our buddies on Earth like to keep their own secrets,” Graham asked.
“Either of those situations are completely possible. We can’t know for sure until we get out there. In either case, I want to be ready.”
“And, if it is the unknown…” Jayne began.
“We are taking the Galaxy for a reason. It is time we wake up a sleeping giant and flex our muscles. What better way to do so than to go head to head against the aggressor from the deepest reaches of our galaxy.”
“You’ve been watching too many virtuavids,” Jayne said without a reaction.
“You know I haven’t watched anything since I was child.”
“You think TOM is up to the task?” Graham asked.
Marcus stood up and looked around the bridge.
“We’re about to find out.”
3127 – Eta Cassiopeia, Crowns Corner Military Depot
Wing leader Jorg Busen tapped his small tablet screen, hitting the delete button on the message he had read. He sat back up against his cot and took a deep breath.
Jorg Busen was a veteran of the Alioth navy, and a decorated pilot.
He was the current wing leader for the M wing, a collection of thirty-seven fighters and bombers known as the Foxbats. They were one of the most renowned group of space fighter pilots known to man. They were currently stationed as part of the Megalodon super carrier which was yet to be finished. That assignment had changed in the last few minutes. He had received orders directly from Admiral Mueller to take half of M wing and transfer them to the Galaxy for a deep space military exercise. There was an element of risk in the exercise and therefore only volunteers would be allowed to come along. Jorg knew that it would not be a problem with the Foxbats. The real problem would be knowing which of them to pick once they all volunteered.
Details of the mission were very limited, and that was to be part of the reason of the exercise.
Jorg knew better. The second message he received came from a secret source with critical information on the true reason for the mission. What he had read in the message had set his heart racing and his mind aflutter. The prospect of coming face to face with the first alien power, and that he would be one of the first, was a great honor. He wasn’t sure just how his source had received that information, but the orders were clear. He was to do everything within his power to ensure the safety of the foreign element and do whatever necessary so that their group had the first contact.
Jorg would have to find a way to be the first man out. There was no greater objective in his faith.
He was a member of the church of God is Near.
Jorg got up and walked over to a small desk on the far side of the tiny room he was housed in. He, along with the rest of M wing, had been on shore leave now for three weeks. This was an exceedingly long time not to be active. His main job during those three weeks was to just keep track of his men and make sure they didn’t get into trouble. Thankfully, it wasn’t a hard job. The Foxbats were the most professional bunch of pilots he had ever worked with. Leading them was his easiest job.
He sat down at the desk and pulled up the material and supplies portion of the mission. M wing’s thirty-seven ships were comprised of five Kola-class two-man bombers ships, two Hyperion shuttles, two utility shuttles and twenty-eight fighter craft. In the past, M wing had mostly used the single man Fox fighters that were common in most Sol and Alioth carrier fleets. For this mission though, it appears he had the authority to request upgrades and it took him no time to request that his entire cadre of Fox fighters be replaced with the brand new Jaguar fighters. He had helped test pilot those amazing ships just a year ago and they were now in full production for the Alioth navy.
He brought up the specs to the Jaguars. These were the top of the line single man fighters available now only to the Alioth navy. The ship was shaped as a tear drop, with four jagged spears pointing towards the thin part of the tear. The pilot sat within the fatter portion of the tear and looked down the narrow gap within the four spears. That visual was not essential though, as the entire interior of the cockpit was one live three-hundred-sixty degree, high resolution screen. For the pilot, it felt as if he was flying through space in nothing but the pilot’s seat. All heads up displays were always directly in front of the pilot and would follow his eyes throughout the cockpit. All pertinent information was always in front of him. The feeling was something that took many pilots many flights to get used to, but once they were used to the feeling, the combat awareness was unlike anything else.
The Jaguars were powered by the latest Haussen gravity drives and top of line capacitors for maximum combat time. Testing wasn’t conclusive yet, but it appeared to provide the small ship with nearly seventy five minutes of combat time, which was far greater than the old Fox. But the new ship’s greatest assets were its weapons. Along with the general array of anti-missile weaponry, shield walls and ion dumbfire arrays, the Jaguar was equipped with a revolutionary weapon known among the pilots as the lightning gun. Each of the four tips of the ship’s spears carried a large capacity plasma electro transmission array. The weapon worked in two steps. The initial phase heated a small slag of metal to near plasma stages and then fired it. But instead of firing the entire slag, the array atomically held one side of each slag within the weapon. The effect created a microscopic metallic string from the weapon to its target. If the other side of the slag hit the target, all the built up energy was dispensed down the near super conductor into the target, creating temperatures reaching thirteen thousand degrees at the target. The effect from the firing to the hit was eerily akin to lightning, hence the name.
The weapon was revolutionary for space combat. Only a direct hit with a target would actually unleash the weapon, providing for ultimate power conservation while a direct hit released energy no small fighter or drone could deal with. The microscopic size of the slag also meant that it could bypass most shield walls and also could go untracked by other forms of defenses. The slag was fired at nearly seventy miles per second and with aim assistance by the ship’s computer, ensured a high rate of hit. The ship fired its four lightning guns in a rotation.
A single Jaguar was a ferocious craft, but the ship became even more devastating when employed in linked formations. The new computer systems on board the small fighters allowed for four of the ships to function as one sole ship. The lead ship piloted the formation, locked by the computers. Two more ships flew alongside the main one, serving as additional firepower while the fourth actually linked in reverse to the main ship. This unit flew as one, and the three additional ships served as independent turrets. This allowed the smaller, single manned fighters to convert into gunships able to provide significant power against waves of bombers or even corvettes.
They were the pinnacle of Alothian military technology; a combination of advanced weaponry, materials and software. The pilot in Jorg was excited at the chance to use the new crafts and he was sure that Admiral Mueller’s favoritism within the navy would allow him to get the ship. Beyond that, he felt a sense of pride being able to display the wonders of mankind’s technology in their first contact with an alien civilization.
He felt like a little boy again. He knew he needed to not get caught up in the moment. It was clear that they didn’t know what they were venturing out into. But he was a strong believer in the alien God. There was no god among humans. They had created and then destroyed countless of their own gods and it was clear to him that the words of his church were the truth. God did exist, but he was not among men. He hoped he could bring him to his fellow man. Only then would everyone understand.
And those that didn’t would have to be purged.
3127 – Alioth, Over the Northern Layea Ocean
“One of these days, you have to take me to one of those beaches.”
The Lion had just unhooked from the orbital tug and was in flight towards Benard City. It was one of the smaller floating cities on Alioth, and it was where the merchant band had headquartered out of. Oganno was going to meet them and there the equipment for their mission would be loaded up. Ayia was standing directly in front of the co-pilot’s seat and looking out of the window. Alioth’s sun was behind them as they were beginning to descend into dusk. Just below them was one of the planet’s few actual islands, its golden beaches glistening in the sunlight. White crested waves crashed along the white sand, which faded into a thick green of the heavy vegetation. The few plants that actually grew on land on Alioth had been nearly wiped out when men had colonized the planet, but with the creation of the floating islands, all natural islands were left to their original beauty.
“You know I didn’t grow up here, right? It’s not like I know the secret spots,” Kale pointed out.
“Yeah, I guess so. Still, it would be nice. Wouldn’t it?”
Kale scratched his head. His hair was getting long again. It was at that point where it was starting to get in the way. Along with his beard, Gheno joked that he looked like a vagabond, a space hitchhiker. He would have to do something about that, but he grew complacent and ignored it.
“I don’t know. Water scares me. Not too many oceans on Urt,”
Kale commented. He glanced down at the screen. Sentinel was flying the ship, but he always kept an eye on the displays. It made him feel like he knew what he was doing.
“The water on Zoanda didn’t keep you from diving into it,” Ayia pointed out. She turned towards him and put her hands on her hips.
“Not this again. I was trying to get that drone,” he said, not looking up.
She put her hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine.”
She turned and looked back down at the island as it went out of view under the ship.
“Just promise you will take me to a beach someday. One here on Alioth.”
“Yeah. Sure,” he replied.
"The last message I got from Oganno mentioned that he wanted us to see his new residence. Will we have time for that?" Ayia asked.
Kale chuckled under his breath.
"Yeah. We're going to have enough to time to check out his new mansion."
The events three years ago had led to an incredible burst of wealth for the old father-figure and his cadre of scientists. Once they had put the affairs for the attack on their center at ease, and they had taken the time to change their security measures, the group had gone forward with finalizing the new hook for development. By Solar IP laws, the group could either sell the rights as they saw fit, or hold the rights for production of the new hook for up to twenty years. They chose this option. They took out an initial loan to build a factory for production, but that loan was easily paid off in just six months of sales. It would probably take a few years for some pirate company to backwards engineer the hook, but by that point, their improvements and advancements would allow them to hold a tight grip on the new hook market. Every new ship being built on Solar, Alothian or Coranian were demanding the new hook. They allowed the original mastermind behind the hook development to name the hook after his son and the rest was history. Three years later, the small group of survivors of the Crusader attack on Devil's Den were mostly retired from work. A good many had remained on Alioth and were wealthy enough to own their own floating islands.
The Lost Tribe (Sentinel Series Book 2) Page 7
