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Mission:SRX
Before Space Recon
-A Short Story-
M. D. White
20160315
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used facetiously and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Text, Cover Copyright © 2016 by Matthew D. White
Bravo Copy
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner without written permission from the author.
1
“And we’re out,” the Defiance’s pilot reported to the rest of her crew as they made the transition from the warp back to real space. “Navigator’s reporting a clean transition. Drift of eighteen percent detected from nominal. Within parameters.”
“Thank you, Ensign Meyers,” replied Lieutenant Commander Warren Hughes, Captain of the Ship, from the comfort of his seat at the rear of the bridge. Although the Defiance was his first opportunity to command a vessel of his own it was far from what he had imagined.
Rather than some grand battleship used to protect entire systems, the Defiance was little more than a modified, first-generation civilian freighter. They had bolted a few batteries of defensive cannons to the skin, added secure communications equipment, christened her a vessel of the United Space Corps and expected her to be as popular as any other ship in the fleet.
In the end, however, she was a cargo tug and everyone knew it. They regularly hauled supplies to the various colonies and habitats spread between Earth and Sol Bravo, the first system discovered that contained sentient alien life, and little more. Since First Contact with the Aquillian race, his ship had occasionally interfaced with teams of alien linguists bent on establishing diplomatic relations but those encounters were quickly losing their luster for the commander; he usually fantasized about what would be coming next.
Hughes looked between the workstations ahead of him and out to the darkness on the far side of the screen above. It was all part of the experience, he reminded himself. He was barely thirty and had at least half a career left to work his way to more glamorous assignments. Another year or two and he’d be on his way to being a frigate or battleship captain. It would mean real responsibility, responsibility for more than the thirty or so members of his current crew. There would be the opportunity to keep the peace and defend humanity against the unknown. He smiled at the thought while he gazed across the field of nameless stars beyond.
Front and center of the semicircular room sat his pilot and navigator, Meyers and Taz. Most of the command crew’s members had callsigns; Taz had been given his straight out of the academy under more than suspicious circumstances. He went by it so often, it was likely half the ship even knew his real name.
To their right were stationed the pair of weapons operators, Gunner and Breaker. Like Captain Hughes, they spent the preponderance of every mission bored out of skulls with nothing to shoot at. The left side of the room was populated by the more active members: Dove, Toto and Lieutenant Gray, representing Communications, Avoidance Sensors and Engineering. Unlike the weapons operators, Gray was stretched significantly thin and was always running between the decks putting out rhetorical fires to keep the aging vessel flying.
“All systems are go. Proceeding to calculate next jump.”
Fifty years ago, devices like their sublight engines would have been sorcery. Today, they had already become a headache. Due to the algorithms the systems employed to punch a hole through the fabric of spacetime they often landed the ships significantly off-course from where they were intended. This turned most long-distance voyages into a series of small puddle jumps to constantly calculate new paths along the way towards their destinations lest they get lost in the darkness forever. As amazing as the experience was, it quickly devolved into another point of contention of serving in the Corps.
“Ahh, Sir, we might have a problem.”
The statement from his pilot caused Hughes to drop the chain of thought and straighten up in his seat. “What’s wrong?”
“The computer can’t converge on a solution. I’m getting some interference that I can’t isolate out and it’s wrecking the calculations,” the navigator reported back to the captain.
“Delays, delays,” the commanding officer said with a sigh, “Thanks, Taz. XO Stone, log the event and prepare an emergency broadcast should we need it.”
**
“LT, we might have an issue.”
Lieutenant Kael looked up from his screen on the small, stamped metal desk in his stateroom. Actually, ‘closet’ or ‘coffin’ might have been a better description of the miniscule titanium box. It barely had space for the tiny writing surface and a chair beneath a bunk populated with a centimeter thick foam pad and an equally insufficient wool blanket.
The walls to every side were covered with a layer of hard, insulating foam which was cheaply printed to resemble wood paneling. It ingeniously failed to not only conceal the fact they were in a tin can, but also to provide any reduction to the constant droning noise from the rest of the station. Despite the conditions, Kael found it difficult to complain too much as their outpost was tiny, isolated and perched on the surface of a miniscule rock that had spent untold millennia being pelted by asteroids. Better than being outside.
“What’s that, Sergeant?” Kael asked his soldier at the door.
“Sir, the Defiance has busted their arrival time by two hours,” the soldier reported.
“So they’re a little off-course. That’s not unheard of,” Kael said, brushing the comment away.
“USC-Instruction states that a recovery team be alerted if an arrival is more than two hours late.”
“It’s a two week trip and they’ve barely missed the window. If we loaded up for every lagging freighter coming our way, we’d—“
“Sir,” the sergeant cut him off, “that’s the rule because of the speed in which we can lose ships out here. If we drag our feet we could lose the cargo and the crew.”
The pace and accuracy of the response indicated the NCO had practiced the words many times over. It was not unexpected; his attention to detail was precisely why he was employed. “I know, I know,” Kael replied, nodding his head, “wake the maintenance team and put the company on alert. Have the transport crew review the route waypoints. That’s protocol, right? If they don’t show by plus-four, we’ll launch,” he ordered, his gaze drifting to the black rifle and pistol clamped into the lock beside his rack. “You’re absolutely right; better safe than sorry.”
**
“Nothing. Still nothing.”
The report came back from the maintainers in the service passage below. Hughes wiped a bead of sweat from his brow before replacing the garrison cover that served as part of his semi-formal uniform. He pulled the brim low to hide any additional signs of discomfort in front of his crew. If they didn’t have a break soon, they’d be stuck flying in real space and trying to outrun the source of whatever was disrupting their equipment. They didn’t have the fuel or provisions to survive such a maneuver. The only terrestrial equivalent was hiking across a continent; it had the potential to leave them on the drift forever but Hughes wasn’t about to start a panic.
“Can you at least triangulate where it’s coming from?” he asked the navigator.
“Negative. It’s a huge field. I haven’t seen a change in magnitude yet and we’ve been flying for over an hour.”
Hughes shook his head, “well keep going. Get us something,” he said, looking across the row of screens. He hated feeling useless, being apart from the
others and away from the technical solution but without anything better to work with, he could only observe. It was only part of the experience, he told himself. He needed to trust his team to do what was required. Time to learn to live with it; on a larger ship it’d only be worse.
“Sir, incoming transmission. It’s Aquillian!”
“What?” Hughes launched from his seat to the side of the sensor operator, “where?”
“There’s a small transport vessel just within range,” Toto brought a radar image up on her station. It was grainy but displayed the flowing lines and sleek silhouette that was common on the alien ships.
Captain Hughes had seen them before and conversed personally with members of the alien race on only one prior occasion. While they were occasionally present near some of the colonies closer to Sol Bravo, running into the curious humanoids so deep into space was a rare event, “can we communicate with them?” he asked, “Did they encounter the same interference we did?”
Their communications officer, Dove, nodded in response, “I’ll scan the channel to see if there’s an opening.”
“They just launched three shuttles,” Lieutenant Stone reported from his station beside the commander’s seat. The other officers’ heads snapped back to the radar image. The captain appeared about to speak but missed the opportunity.
“Comm. line is open. Translator up,” Dove announced. A blast of static erupted from the speakers across the console. The bridge crew instinctively ducked before it dissipated to a steady hiss. Random digital noise pulsed through at regular intervals.
“Human ship, respond,” the voice that came through the radio was heavily processed. It sounded more like a synthesized program transmitting at an insufficient bitrate than anything alive, “human ship, respond,” it repeated the phrase in tone and pacing.
The crew turned towards the captain. Hughes’s heart rate increased but he wanted to act before his team sensed any hesitation. He cleared his throat before responding, “Aquillian ship, this is Lieutenant Commander Hughes of the U.S.C. Defiance. We have encountered significant interference to our navigation systems and are unable to continue to our destination. Have you seen anything similar? Are you able to assist us?”
There was a pause for several seconds, leaving them all in an uncomfortable silence as they waited. “Understood, Lieutenant Commander,” the voice final replied, “This sector of the arm is known to damage quantum pathfinders,” the alien stopped again. On the screen, a series of small objects broke away from their host vessel and continued to close on the Defiance’s position, “We have dispatched three transports along with our primary maintenance crew to lend assistance to your ship.”
The request instantly put up a red flag inside Hughes’ head. He looked to his executive officer and whispered out of range of the microphone, “If we let them onboard and they attack, can the security team overpower them?”
“I don’t see why not,” Stone replied, “the last report maintained that they don’t have access to projectile weapons. I’ll call up a detachment to oversee their arrival.”
“Do so,” Hughes ordered while he stared at the screens, “they’re only a few minutes off. I’ll meet them at the airlock with Comm and an engine team,” he delicately removed and checked the pistol strapped against his leg and chambered a round, “Lieutenant Stone, you’ve got the bridge. Let’s make this quick.”
2
“Standby for liftoff,” Kael heard the transmission echo through the passenger bay of his transport and leaned his head back against the nylon webbing of the bench seat. Forty members of his company were spread out beside him, along with an additional squad of technicians. A row of pallets were strapped down in the middle of the room, filled with whatever diagnostics and repair equipment they could dig out of storage on such short order.
The pressure on the gravitationally-stabilized transport during liftoff wasn’t much worse than what a traditional aircraft could pull on the ramp despite their acceleration being an order of magnitude greater. They quickly left the surface of the lonely asteroid behind and made for the void beyond. Once sufficiently separated from the local dust and debris, the pilot punched in the coordinates for their target’s final estimated waypoint and silently took them into the deep.
**
The starboard landing platform consisted of an alcove about five meters per side. The passage that ran the length of the ship’s right fuselage branched off the fore and aft while access panels covered the both flanking walls. Most of them allowed for the maintainers to perform expedited repairs on the docking collars but a single, bright red panel to the left of the airlock contained medical supplies. For most missions of the Space Corps, ready access to such equipment was far more critical than weapons. Medicine, trauma kits, and treatments for radiation were fully stocked alongside plenty of large oxygen bottles also staged in the bottom of the cabinet. Those were ready for the eventuality of a hull breach and associated local depressurization.
Lieutenant Commander Hughes swallowed hard as he watched the series of lights beside the airlock flicker green to indicate a good seal with the mating ship outside. He keyed his radio, “Stone, status on the other ships.”
“Sir, they’re looking over the engines. They’re in contact but haven’t reported any problems back to us yet.”
Hughes looked cautiously between the six members of the security team flanking him and Dove, their communications officer. Although she was doing her best to hide it, he could tell she was nervous, “it’ll be alright,” Hughes nodded toward her with a thin smile, “we’ll be out of here in no time.”
Dove mirrored the expression with a slight exhale, “yes sir.”
He pressed the final release and with a sharp pop, the airlock door released and slid out of the way.
In the passage on the far side stood a small conglomeration of Aquillian forms. Their sizes were as the captain had expected: spindly and slightly shorter than the humans with utilitarian overalls covering their grayish skin. Most carried bags and payloads which resembled diagnostic equipment. Only one was unencumbered, dressed in a mid-length coat with his hands clasped at his waist.
The apparent leader stepped forward and approached the captain, awkwardly shaking his hand as if it the action was rehearsed but only academically understood. Hughes bowed his head and scanned between the alien and his companions as they filtered onto the platform.
“Thank you for your assistance,” he stated while their guest looked around the human ship. It wore a low-profile respirator across its throat and mouth as an active translator and more than a method to purify the air, “what do I call you?” he asked.
**
Lieutenant Stone watched the exchange between the captain and the alien envoy with rising interest while he attempted to manage the rest of the operations on the bridge. The equipment the aliens carried looked like it would have been at home on any bench in the engineering bay; it appeared to be a limited danger. He didn’t see any sign of a weapon but all of the aliens seemed on edge. He could hardly blame them. Had the positions been reversed, he doubted he’d act any different.
“We’ve got movement!” Breaker announced, “Both ships just took off!”
Stone hopped to his side and saw the tandem security feeds indeed show the pair of support vessels accelerating off from their positions by the Defiance’s engines, “the hell are they going?” he muttered before they began to turn back in a wide arc.
“On collision course!”
The lieutenant froze as the pair of ships cut deep in the turn and swung back to the human freighter without warning. They were small but could still do extensive damage with an impact, “evade! Weapons free!”
Twisting in his seat against the pressure on the controls, their pilot, Ensign Meyers, forced their main engines back to speed to push the fully-loaded vessel aside. The ship resisted, held in place by not only their mass but by the Aquillian shuttle planted against their airlock.
Gunner drove his co
ntrols deep to the side, slewing the small collection of aftermarket artillery cannons towards the incoming alien ship. They didn’t move fast enough and the first alien transport slammed hard into the Defiance’s skin, exploding in a silent plume of fire and smoke and tearing away the leading cluster of defensive guns. The blast reverberated through the ship as the second support vessel outmaneuvered Breaker’s cannons and plowed into the rear quarter of the freighter, taking out the remaining trailing guns.
**
The lights flickered around the airlock as the rumble from the twin collisions rolled through the Defiance. The Aquillian leader seemed unshaken by the noise and leaned in towards the captain. An untellable gurgle snaked from its throat while the translator came to life, “call me your destiny.”
Hughes followed the movement to see the alien press a small length of metal pipe against his stomach. With a flash of black powder and a sharp pop, the improvised device ignited and propelled a centimeter-wide ball bearing through his chest, easily slicing through his unarmored wool coat. The round exited with a hole the size of his fist, taking with it a chunk of his abdomen and coating the wall with a thick soup of blood, bile and matter.
The pain was as sharp as it was unexpected and Captain Hughes instantly collapsed, rolling to his knees and then to his back, barely registering the sight of the other aliens lunging towards his soldiers with daggers produced from their sleeves. Driven against the walls, they had no room to raise their weapons. As he tumbled past, the alien slipped the captain’s pistol from its holster and wedged it in the strap across its chest.
**
Stone’s heart stopped as he watched the soldiers fall under the assault, the blades still protruding from their necks, “full alert!” he managed after a moment, “Lock them down!”
MissionSRX: Before Space Recon Page 1
