Admiral, don't do this! Stop, I'm trying to save us. Stop, I'm on your si—”
The hyperjump sequence initiated and everything slowed down, as if time became a gooey, thick substance instead of a fluid stream, and everyone on the bridge seemed to stretch out—faces, fingers, noses—then all sound ceased. The vid screen lit up in white streaking stars, zooming by, becoming only lines.
An instant later, everything calmed and was right again.
But nothing was right, and Revel gasped along with the rest of the crew, except Sandra.
“Captain, what is going on?” questioned Revel.
In front of them was an armada of ships of all shapes and sizes, some pyramid and twice the size of their starship, and others disc-like, cigar-shaped, or triangular. The biggest of them wore a metallic dragon's head on the bow of the ship, warning any visitor that it wasn't to be dealt with lightly.
Before Sandra could answer, Starship Hathor trembled and shuttered. Revel fell to the floor and all schematics on Taz Morris's desk scattered across the bridge. Sparks flew and fire erupted.
Another tremor shook the deck, and as Revel pushed himself up to a standing position he stared wild-eyed at the vid screen. More photon torpedoes than he could count were inbound. He took one last breath as the bridge cracked in half, glowing like hot red coals. He glanced at the many crew members on the bridge, seeing the horror in their eyes, some scrambling to hold on to to their desks and avoid the vacuum of space. Most were too slow, swept off of their feet and out into the dark void, just as Revel was. The ship exploded into a million sparks, and then, like a blink of an eye, Revel's vision went black.
6 Months Before the Attack
Chase Byrd stood at a podium, staring out into the audience, a blaze of lights blaring down on him and shadowing the spectators from view. He could only wonder how many were in the seats in front of him. Five thousand? Ten thousand?
He didn't want to know. And, how many were watching on the vid channels? Again, he would rather focus on what's important—this debate.
A bead of sweat slipped beneath his confident facade, trickling down his sideburn and off his cheek. He took a peek at a glass of water sitting untouched on his podium.
He gestured to his opponent on the other side of the stage, pointing at him. “Prime Overseer Balan is correct. I've never been a Prime Overseer in the governance.”
Chase charismatically smiled, something that seemed to make women weak in the knees, an ability that started shortly after he decided to run for Prime Overseer of Sphere Nine. Suddenly, women found him more interesting, making him wish he had made the decision to run for this position in office earlier. He was no longer in women's blind spots.
Chase continued, “For some reason, Prime Overseer Balan can't get that fact out of his mind. So, what's the bigger issue? That I haven't been a Prime Overseer or that every single vote I had as a Prime Custodian in the governance has been correct. And what was yours, Prime Overseer Balan? Seventy-three percent correct?”
“Look,” Balan chuckled at the spry young man wanting to take his place in Sphere Nine, “a Prime Custodian is given exactly half the tasks as a Prime Overseer. They govern over none, while I have the responsibility of governing an entire Sphere, hundreds of thousands of people. Now, Prime Custodiun Chase Byrd can look at my percentage and gawk at it, or he can see that my voting percentage is much higher than every Prime Overseer's voting record in office today—with exception of Prime Overseer Savannah Levens.” Balan’s eyes narrowed and he turned to look directly at Chase. “Don't let your innocence and inexperience fool you, Chase. The burden, the long hours, and the dedication it takes to be in service to so many people is a weight not many can carry, and even though I carry it, I'm still able to be more accurate than most Overseers on the starbase.”
“The votes, Overseer Balan, should always be in favor of the people you're voting for. The people voted you in office, and your voting record on many issues were clearly for other interests and not for the people. Let's take taxes, for example. You voted to raise taxes in Sphere Nine's business district by a whopping 11% in just one year. Yes, that extra money went to construction costs, building remodels, and to other important Sphere issues. It, however, also went to governances wage increases, including yours.”
“And I still stand by that, Chase. Do we need to go over it again?” He paused, glancing at the moderator, wondering why the moderator hadn't chimed in yet with another question. “But, Chase likes to say this while suggesting we allocate these funds to further Star Guild exploration? As you can see, Chase seems to like the tax hike, but doesn't like where the monies are being allocated. To me, that is a contradiction.”
Chase paused, then cleared his throat. He picked up a glass of water and for the first time in the debate, he took a sip. “Star Guild exploration has more benefits than not. We could find more ebb to mine, we could detect other possible life out there, and perhaps find a potential home for us, instead of this starbase. Since Planet Lumus below can't host life for us, maybe another planet can.”
“Do we all need to remind Chase of the last Star Guild exploration? Does Starship Hathor ring a bell?”
Chase looked down at the podium, shaking his head. He missed his parents. They had both died on that ship and he cherished his fond memories with them. He wanted, more than anything, that his parents could be watching him on this day.
He slowly raised his eyes toward the audience he knew was behind the glare of the lights. “Yes, I know more than most about the tragedy of Starship Hathor. Star Guild Intelligence determined that it was a minor miscalculation into an asteroid belt. Prime Overseer Balon, and the rest of Star Guild law, imply that this will happen every time. We've only once explored outside of Star Guild boundaries, and it's time to open those boundaries up again. As we all know, the resources on planet Lumus below will eventually dwindle to nothing. And then, what do we have?”
“Chase is talking about hundreds of years from now. We're here today. Let's stick to what we can fix and heal today. Chase and I come from very diverse backgrounds, and I can see how his background has influenced him, just as I know all of you can. He wants to throw more money at Star Guild, when they are practically a trivial entity, not needed by the starbase any more than you need fuel for ion thrusters. It's just unneeded. I will stay focused on the tasks at hand—the tasks I can do for the people of Sphere Nine.”
“Gentlemen,” announced the moderator. “It's time for your closing statements. Two minutes each. Prime Overseer Sam Balan you're first, followed by Prime Custodian Chase Byrd.”
“Thank you,” nodded Balan. “For the last nineteen years, I've been Sphere Nine's loyal servant. When...”
Chase suddenly felt a wave of nausea consume him and the room started to spin. He clutched his podium with both hands so he wouldn’t fall.
“…I promise to keep Sphere Nine...”
Chase's hands were clammy, and suddenly his body started to cool down, as if someone had just turned on the air conditioning inside the building and aimed it at him. He took a deep breath and exhaled. If he had been alone, he would have slapped his cheek or wiggled his head to bring himself back into focus. He took another sip of water.
“...Don't get me wrong. Chase is a good man, he just doesn't...”
Chase's body started to tingle, as if he wasn't getting enough oxygen, or not breathing properly. He began breathing quickly and heavily. He stepped back and took a quick peek at his opponent and gasped, shaking his head like a drunken child staring at his own parent's distorted face. And that's exactly what he saw—his mother, Operation Specialist Colleen Byrd—although, her image was distorted and laughing at him. Then the shape changed and he saw his father, also laughing and pointing at him. How could Balan be his mother and father?
What's happening?
He fell to one knee, clutching his chest. Then someone grasped his arm and tried pulling him up, but Chase's body was too weak. He fell to the floor and his eyelids became hea
vy.
“Chase. Keep your eyes open,” said someone's voice.
“I can't...can't. Help...me.”
“Chase...Chase...”
∞
Chief Petty Officer Crystal McCoy bit on a strand of her auburn hair, then chided herself and spit it out. She stood inside of her large two-ton, twelve-foot Mech—appropriate equipment for the intense gravity of the dwarf planet she was mining, planet Lumus.
She turned her body and lifted her arm, the Mech mimicking her movement. She swung her arm down and the Mech's arm followed, smashing a giant mound of greyish-red ebb rock, crumbling the mound into tiny pieces. She bent down, gathering the pieces with her Mech's robotic hands, then flung the ebb into a cart hovering next to her.
“Did you hear?” crackled a male voice over the com link.
Crystal stood, and the Mech did the same. She turned her Mech's parroting switch off, disengaging the Mech's mimicking ability. She wiped sweat off of her brow, irritably responding, “Hendricks, what is it?”
“Your ex-boyfriend passed out during a debate.”
“Chase?” Her heart skipped a beat.
“You have any other boyfriends campaigning right now that I should know about?”
She eyed the landscape before her, seeing the long hills of red rock leading to the base of Gabrielle Mountain a few miles away—a
Star Guild Episode Zero Page 3
