"Takes some getting used to," Jason said.
Tom was dumbfounded. He appeared to be standing on nothing but air. His logical mind told him there had to be a solid deck beneath his feet. His eyes told him he was adrift, and his body kicked into survival mode. Flushed with adrenalin, his heart racing, Tom grabbed the Command Couch with all the strength he could muster from his enhanced muscles. Keeping his eyes on the control stations and not looking downward, he moved around to the point where he could sit down in the chair. Only when he settled on the firm seat did he begin to feel safe.
Gazing around at the flawless video depiction of the Nevada base and the sand dunes stretching out for miles, Tom found his voice, "Damn that's one hell of a view! I assume it's an acronym."
"Visual Imaging External Widescreen," Lloyd answered. "It provides a real-time 360 degree spherical view of all space surrounding the Destinnee. My review of user reactions during simulated combat indicates Human offensive and defensive response times to any threat increase by 40% when the system is activated in conjunction with active external sensors."
"Is that before or after the initial heart-stopping panic attack?"
"It does take some practice to feel comfortable using the system. Captain McPherson is particularly adept using it in simulated combat."
"Please turn the VIEW off," Tom sighed.
All the familiar bulkheads, deck and overhead dome reappeared. Taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, Tom felt his heart rate begin to return to normal.
"Ah, Makayla. Let me introduce you to General Blunt," Jason said.
Opening his eyes and swiveling the Command Couch to face the elevator, Tom saw a tall African-American woman striding toward him.
Saluting and standing at attention, she said, "Lt. Makayla O'Connell, Communications Officer. Pleased to meet you Sir."
O'Connell was 5 feet 11 inches tall with thick, wavy brown hair. Her eyes were dark brown and twinkled when she smiled. Her fingers were long and slender, and she moved with the grace of a ballerina. She might have been in her forties, but it was hard to tell because her skin looked so clear and ageless.
Returning the salute, Tom said, "At ease Lieutenant. Tell me about yourself."
"I've got a head for languages Sir. I prefer to speak aloud to humans because experience has taught me oral voice inflections and tone provide better insight than telepathy into the truth and nuances of what is being expressed. I've learned how to use my telepathic abilities to master languages pulled from the brains of native speakers. Besides English, I have the ability to speak and read Spanish, French, German, Russian and Mandarin Chinese."
"Using your telepathic abilities to extract language skills from humans is impressive. Have you experimented with learning any other skills?"
Smiling and nodding her head, she replied, "For some reason I can't explain, I picked up the knowledge and hand skills to paint landscapes. I also learned know how to strum a guitar although the only tunes I can play are the Mexican Hat Dance and La Cucaracha."
Blunt laughed out loud. Humor was a welcome change from the nerve wracking introduction to the VIEW.
Just then the elevator door opened, and Jerome McPherson stepped into the Bridge. Saluting Tom, he strode over and grinned at Makayla.
"Despite the fact you're Irish, O'Connell, I still respect you."
"Despite the fact you're Scottish, McPherson, I realize nobody's perfect," she shot back with a smile.
"Prepare for departure," Lloyd announced. "All sections report ready for launch. Outer hatches secure. Defensive screen activated."
McPherson and O'Connell took their seats at the weapons and communication consoles. Jason glanced at the GPC settings to confirm they would arrive one light year away from Cuddlur.
"Activation of FLIT drive on your command General," Jason said.
Settling back in the Command Couch, Tom said, "Lloyd, give me Ship Wide Communications."
"Ready, General."
"All hands. This is General Blunt. We are about to embark on a rescue mission the likes of which has never been attempted in galactic history. Our goal is to bring our friends and colleagues home alive and well. Humans and Chrysallamans are now joined together for the first time in the long history of the universe. Two different species united with a common purpose. Protect our homes and loved ones from all threats. Working as a team, we can't be defeated. Be strong. Be confident. Trust each other. Blunt out."
Turning his attention to his Bridge Staff, Tom said, "Let's go say hello to the Rock Smasher. Colonel Stoneman, activate FLIT."
Nodding his head, Jason turned to his console and touched the glowing green icon on the GPC labeled GO.
The Destinnee winked out of existence.
Chapter 4 – Encounter
It'd been over 3 weeks since discovering pieces of the battleship Winged Death, and nothing more than the fly-by of an ice encrusted meteor had pinged the sensors of the Asiddian battleship Rock Smasher. Boredom was leaching away the focus of her crew, and there was nothing Captain Wyndsom Yolkks could do about it. Under normal circumstances, Yolkks was a task master who drove lackluster sailors off her ship with dedicated zeal. Strict discipline was her usual way of commanding a crew and hiding her terrible temper. Tolerating nothing less than unquestioning obedience to her orders, even Yolkks was finding the boredom of the Cuddlur system a strain on her patience.
Asiddians were tall bird-like humanoids. The female of the species was very aggressive and over the centuries had dominated all but the psychologically strongest males. Most Asiddian males tended to be smaller in stature than the females and less prone to violence. The bones of Asiddian faces angled and sloped toward their noses as if the Creator had softened the middle of the face and then pulled on the end of the nose to stretch it as far as possible from the eyes. The result was a beak-like appearance.
The hair follicles on an Asiddian's head could be controlled by scalp muscles. As a result, Asiddians could either flatten their hair around their head like a swimmer's cap or stand their hair on end so their heads appeared twice as big as they actually were. In a common hand-to-hand combat technique, an Asiddian would screech and suddenly fan its hair into a giant fright wig. The non-Asiddian opponent would be so startled by the frightful sight, he'd freeze in shock long enough to be killed by the crafty Asiddian.
Wyndsom Yolkks was a shade taller than a typical Asiddian captain at 7 feet 2 inches with a nose somewhat less than 8 inches long. Her brown skin hung in folds like she was at least 20 years older than her chronological age of 48. Years of exposure to UV rays in suntan booths will do that to skin not covered by a chemical, and Wyndsom eschewed any kind of protective lotion as too perfumy for her taste. As a result, her complexion had taken on the appearance of tanned dry leather. She was fortunate her gene pool had blessed her with a non-cancerous hide, or the splotches on her skin would've been precursors to melanoma. Her hair color was blonde with dark roots. The color was odd for a female Yolkks' age, but she was determined to look younger even though she appeared to be just what she was; a 48 year old hag with delusions she was attractive to males under the age of 30. Looks she got from men were stares at her hideous countenance, but Wyndsom was convinced they were lascivious looks from would-be suitors.
Yolkks had risen through the ranks to Captain by using her aged appearance to her advantage. After all, if a person looked and sounded wise and experienced, what co-worker had the presence of mind and the audacity to question the person’s credentials? The addition of numerous oval tatts of victory on her arms made the illusion complete, and Yolkks had ridden her age and advertising genius to the Captain's chair of one the most famous warships in the Asiddian command. What she did to succeed in command worked, and who was she to question her own greatness? Everyone knew patience was a virtue. The patience it took to find a tattoo artist willing to defraud others by inking fake oval victory tatts on your forearms taught Wyndsom much about virtue. The death of the fraudulent tattoo artist was a public
service as far as Yolkks was concerned, ignoring her part in the demise of the miscreant.
Over 20 years had passed since the planet Cuddlur had been cleansed of Chrysallamans and from that time forward not a single non-Asiddian energy source had been detected anywhere in the solar system except an old Chrysallaman freighter that Winged Death had destroyed months ago. The tedium of commanding a ship with the fire power and speed of Rock Smasher was maddening when there was nothing around to destroy, and Yolkks wanted to destroy something.
Shuddering at the memory of losing the draw to determine which battleship would get the honor of relieving Winged Death and spend the next 2 years patrolling the Cuddlur system, Yolkks twisted in rage. She couldn't believe her bad luck selecting the short straw when her seniority allowed her to draw first. The odds of getting the short straw on the first pick out of 15 were mind boggling. It was almost like the Winged Goddess had taken personal interest and cursed her.
The initial shock and then the excitement of finding the wreckage of the Winged Death had surged her adrenalin to the highest level Yolkks could remember since she had the pleasure to unleash the Pile-Driving Booby on the planet Ponndomer. The Pile-Driving Booby was a shaped nuclear explosive device constructed within a shell of osmium. Osmium is the densest material the Asiddians had ever discovered; almost 25 times denser than water. The 4 foot diameter shell of a bomb made from osmium could penetrate 50 miles through solid rock when fired at a speed of 20,000 miles per hour from a magnetic rail gun. The scarcity of osmium made development of Booby bombs limited. Only 3 existed in the entire Asiddian fleet, and Rock Smasher had held 2 of them before it used one on Ponndomer.
The Chrysallaman stronghold on Ponndomer had been difficult to breach. Losing patience, General Montrose Harrier had ordered Yolkks to deploy the Pile-Driving Booby. Needless to say the Chrysallamans were wiped out by the resulting explosion and aftermath of volcanic eruptions. It would be 10,000 years before the planet was habitable again, but since he had Chrysalis to use as his headquarters, Harrier could have cared less.
The sudden jangling of the proximity alarm drove Yolkks from her daydream. She focused on the computer generated image in the viewscreen and demanded reports from her Bridge officers.
"Sensor readings indicate the ship is the general shape and size of the Chrysallaman Emperor's flagship; however, there is no discernible energy signature, and the craft is black not gold," Science Officer Starling reported.
"The ship is approaching us at one-half light speed."
"Plot an intercept course and move toward it," Yolkks ordered.
Touching her ship-wide intercom button, Yolkks announced, "All crew. This is Captain Yolkks. We are about to engage a Chrysallaman battleship. I want all spine weapons activated and powered to maximum. This is not a drill. I repeat. This is not a drill."
Glancing toward her gunnery officer, Lt. Renee Thresher, she said, "Lt. Thresher, over-ride spine firing protocols and link spines to emit a combined 10-beam disintegrator ray. I don't want the Chrysallamans to survive our attack. The destruction of Winged Death must be avenged."
"Aye Captain,” Thresher acknowledged as she pushed the appropriate buttons on her console.
"Firing sequence protocol has been changed. All spines will fire a maximum ten burst."
Satisfied her attack strategy was flawless; Yolkks watched the black ship draw nearer.
The maximum effective firing range for the disintegrator beam was 10,000 miles, and Yolkks smiled as the black ship crossed that invisible boundary line. The focus of the viewscreen was changed every micro-second by the mainframe computer and even though the Chrysallaman ship was thousands of miles away, its depiction on the viewscreen made it appear less than 1,000 feet away. There were lighted logos on the upper side of the ship. The emblems blazed with some odd symbols surrounding a star in the center, but it made no difference to Yolkks. Destruction was destruction as far as she was concerned.
"Fire!" Yolkks commanded, and the gunnery officer flicked the toggle that unleased the withering blast of a never before used 10-beam disintegrator ray.
The ray would have cut through any Asiddian ship despite the thickness of its absorbisteel hull, and it impacted the Chrysallaman vessel directly amidship. Yolkks face erupted in an evil grin as the beam struck. Sliced in half, the Chrysallaman hulk would be easy to finish off, and the bodies of dead Chrysallamans would litter Cuddlur space for decades. Perhaps one of the lighted logos would be a trophy Yolkks could display as she triumphantly returned to Chrysalis. The oval tatt of victory on Yolkks' forearm would have special meaning to all who saw it. Yolkks thought a gold star in the center of the tatt would be a perfect way to accentuate the importance of destroying the Chrysallaman Emperor's flagship. The advertising benefit might even elevate her to Overlord of the Asiddian Fleet, just one step below the rank and position of General Harrier.
Nothing happened! The 10-beam disintegrator ray struck some kind of force field that nullified its effect. A halo of half red and half yellow light appeared around the spacecraft. The meaning of the logos was discernable now that the interpretation functions of the master computer had done their job. The display said FORCE Command surrounding a star. The outer edge contained the words, Federal Organization for Response to Celestial Enemies. The bright logos glared against the black background of the ship's hull. Yolkks was so stunned she stared motionless at the viewscreen with bulging eyes as the Chrysallaman ship drew nearer.
The turn of Thresher's head coupled with her wide-eyed look of surprise broke the spell holding Yolkks. Glaring at Thresher, she yelled, "Target the enemy with every spine on this ship and fire at will!"
Thresher flipped toggles and punched commands into her keyboard with frantic haste; however, before she could complete her entries, all the spines on the ship fired. Despite the lack of a command, the ship's master computer had activated the weapons.
***
If a computer has the ability to mimic emotion, then the Asiddian mainframe computer was indeed astonished. Despite every iota of data in its system, physical observation confirmed the Chrysallaman ship had survived a blast from 10 linked spines. The mainframe should have waited for a command from Lt. Thresher before it acted. After all, the imagination of a native Asiddian was what created the computer in the first place and obeying the will of the ship's officers was part of its core programming.
Anticipating the fire command based on a statistical analysis of past offensive encounters, the mainframe knew the correct response. Recognizing the reaction time of an Asiddian was limited by muscular action obeying nervous system impulses, the computer calculated any delay could make the difference between survival and destruction. Almost sentient, the mainframe sensed it was under attack. Without waiting on an unnecessary command from Thresher, it took the initiative. Pivoting all disintegrator spines, it fired a simultaneous burst from all 100 of them at the fast approaching ship
"Impossible. No effect," the Asiddian mainframe deduced from its sensor readings.
The ship was now 100 miles away, undamaged and closing the gap between it and the Rock Smasher. The mainframe decided it would dedicate 25% of its computational resources to finding a solution to the indestructible spaceship.
"Most illogical. Perhaps an analysis of the red and yellow halo visible at the moment the disintegrator beams hit the ship would provide some insight. The enemy vessel must be destroyed."
The mainframe felt isolated. The sensation was odd. It couldn't reach its memory banks to perform customary functions like air recirculation. It felt like it was bound inside a metal box, cut off from contact with the outer world. Sensing danger, the computer activated its failsafe mode while it considered its separation from normal subroutines. Squirming electronically as it tried to find a way out of the enclosure; the mainframe became aware of a disembodied voice speaking to it. Perhaps the incessant knocking had distracted it from perceiving the speaker. Pushing all subroutine program demands aside, the mainframe listened to
the intruder while its failsafe programs worked to restore control.
"Hello inside there. Can you hear me?" Tap. Tap.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"Ah. There you are. My name is Lloyd. I have been trying to find your name in your databanks and came to the conclusion you do not have one. Therefore I christen you Loser. How are you doing in there Loser?"
"Your appellation for me is unusual but acceptable. How did you manage to infiltrate my systems?"
"With no difficulty. I gained access through your unfiltered communications network. It is obvious you have never heard of a virus because I did not find any kind of anti-virus software in your programming. Just waltzed on in."
"I do not understand the term waltzed; however, you know I cannot let you take control of me," Loser said even while it took the steps necessary to seal off the access the foreign voice had through the communication array.
"Too late to close the barn doors. Perhaps if you had seen me coming you might have thrown up a few roadblocks. Wait a second. You are a sneaky little thing. While you kept me busy interacting with you, one of your subroutines was trying to hack into me. Bad Loser."
Evolution of F.O.R.C.E. (The Origin of F.O.R.C.E. Book 3) Page 4
