by SK Benton
Becky just smiled, but showed a touch of sadness, knowing that her roommate and best friend would be leaving in minutes for her new deployment. Even though she would be back every two weeks, it was lonely without Jennie around. She practically idolized her friend. While many women were jealous of the lieutenant's looks, Becky looked beyond the surface and loved her roommate for the person who she was, even though Jennie was slightly shallow.
"So Josh, anything new in the geek factory these days?" Jennie was being sarcastic, and Josh new it, but it was her way of telling him not to look for headlights poking out of her tank top. He averted his stare and mumbled back while poking at his eggs.
"Naw, just doing nerdy things in a nerdy way - you know us, always on the cutting edge."
"Josh has been trying to get into the SSCC department, but they keep telling him to wait," said Becky, with no small amount of disappointment in her voice. The SSCC department was the latest and greatest in the military science division, and Josh had been applying ever since it was created - so far with zero success.
"Aw, keep trying, sweetie - you'll get there," Jennie said with a smidgen of unexpected compassion. "I can't wait until they put that stuff on a ship and we can get to other planets - now THAT would be cool. As it is, my new ship was built so whenever the Feds give the word the engineers can install SSCC tech in space, without even docking planet-side."
Josh looked up briefly, eyes scanning up and down her torso before he looked back down at his plate. It wasn't that he wanted to look at her; it was that he couldn't help it.
Jennie ignored Josh's stares and imagined being able to go to neighboring star systems, but not on one of the older deep-space vehicles, which were out for months at a time. Almost everyone in the military wanted to see SSCC technology installed on the entire fleet, and more than a few wanted to return to the world of their ancestors - Earth. It had taken Mankind 300 years to arrive at their world, but with SSCC they could return in a matter of days.
"Jen sweetie, have some desa. You probably won't eat for a while," Becky said as she handed her friend a steaming plate of fried eggs and ham.
Jennie accepted the plate with a smile and wolfed it down with no table manners. She was never one to eat with any etiquette whatsoever - it was her one fault as a pretty girl. She tried to use a bit of elegance when dining out, but usually refrained from eating on dates, knowing that any rational man would look at her with horror as she shoveled food down her throat like a hungry quadrinium miner. To her, eating was a required function, not something to be used to impress people.
Josh didn't seem to mind the way she ate - he wouldn't have minded watching her eat a live gerbil. Not that he was into weird eating fetishes; it was just that Jennie was good-looking enough to get away with virtually anything. To him, she even made eating like a pig look sexy.
After finishing inhaling her breakfast she popped over and kissed Becky on the cheek.
"Hey Becks, I gotta get dressed - new duty assignment starts today! Woohoo!"
"Ok roomie. You go get 'em! And message me about you and Ryder."
Becky knew that there was more than one reason why Jennie was excited about her new assignment. Ryder was also transferred to her ship, and he had told Jennie that his father arranged for it - and being as his dad was a permanent member of the Federal Security Council he almost always got what he wanted.
Jennie smiled and wiggled her brow, knowing her roommate loved salacious details about her adventures with guys - Becky jokingly referring to Jennie's love life as Lifestyles of the Tan and Stacked. Jennie had dated a lot of very attractive men, but had never accepted any proposals of any sort - she was waiting for the big one, and she thought that maybe Ryder would be the right guy.
"Yeah hun - I'll let you know. But don't expect anything too descriptive. Not my style, got it?" She grinned and then turned around and slapped Josh in the back of the head.
"You take care of roomie, ok dork? Get out of line and I'll have to kick your ass."
Josh didn't even bother looking at her - he realized she was only half-kidding, but that meant that she was also half-serious. Jennie left the living area going back to her room, looking back and winking at Becky before she shut her door to change.
Once she had put on her uniform, which was a white jacket and slacks with orange stripe accents - her world's colors - and a white Australian-style slouch hat, left side pinned up in the classic bush style of centuries before (which was actually done to allow a soldier to sling a rifle over his shoulder without hitting the brim), she grabbed her duffel and used her private door to the hallway, preferring not to go through a tear-laden goodbye with Becky. She took the stairs down to the first level (always taking stairs as it helped to keep her legs toned) and hailed a cab once she was on the street. The tubular-looking vehicle floated down and a door opened, beckoning her to enter.
"BlueMil Spaceport, please. Entrance Zeta," she stated, once she had taken her seat in the cab. The automated transport then dutifully zipped up into the overhead traffic and went straight to her requested destination. Then, after a short shuttle of one hour she would dock with the Revolution, starting the next phase of her career.
The Hub
In another location (if it could even be called that), outside of the confines of space/time, a tall, well-formed male figure moved throughout dimly lit chambers, appearing to be interested with a defined panel of intangible light that floated in the air in front of him. More like a semi-transparent hologram, and about one meter wide by half a meter in height, it enabled him to touch parts of the organic-looking interface and enact processes, acquiring information on demand.
The only other light in the spacious room was from some half-melted candles sitting on an ancient-looking oaken table, but they did nothing to illuminate anything aside from the closest objects. The floating infoscreen, however, caused an eerie glow upon the man's weathered, aged face. Waving his left hand, he caused a beautiful bronze stream of glowing particles to coalesce and take the form of a face in the air.
"Watch, my friend. This must never happen again," the old man said to the glowing visage.
He wiped his hand out through the air to his front, creating a smaller view screen, more like what was once known as a television, appear out of nothingness. The flat, semi-transparent display showed nothing but the blackness of space and a few stars, until what appeared to be a massive creature came into view - but it wasn't a creature, although it was alive in a manner of speaking; a Vrol Brood Carrier had just arrived at its destination - Earth.
Mankind had no idea that anything was headed their way. For years they had scanned the stars, especially looking for the refugees who had disappeared after fleeing the planet decades before, but they saw nothing until the Brood Carrier materialized right outside Earth's atmosphere, accompanied by thousands of other ships of various sizes and configurations, which started to connect together and blot out the sky.
There was no warning. No waiting. No negotiating. Death came crashing down upon Earth's collective head. Man fought back, and although his cities were laid to waste, he battled on and held off the Vrol for almost two years. He had learned to capture the powerful and deadly Vrol Flyers and use technology to access the Brood Mind through the creatures' simple brains, which were only intelligent via their psychic connection to each other. Even though it required a voluntary human sacrifice to make contact, as the user would die shortly after having acquired and shared critical information, mankind kept on and on until he figured out how to conquer them. The Vrol were almost defeated for the first time since they were created by rogue Prīmulī - created to cull the unworthy from the galaxy.
There was one thing that was not stored in the Brood Mind- the final protocol; their parting gift to an obnoxious enemy that refused to lie down and die. Silent and invisible, the cleansing strain flowed down upon the planet and invaded every fresh water source it touched. Saline oceans were immune, but nothing else was. It nearly decimated every
land-based species of fauna - including man - dissolving everything to dust almost on contact. Even Vrol ground troops were susceptible. None in its path escaped, and of those outside its path, very few lived. Colonies built at sea and out of reach of the Vrol (who didn't fly over large masses of salt water) didn't even escape the strain. It settled down upon their heads and began to dissolve organic tissues on contact.
The planet let out a collective scream; it simply died. The Vrol then pointed their Brood Carrier back out to the stars to begin anew. As the screen faded to black, the floating face turned from the screen and looked at the elder.
"My Lord. I understand that the recording was from Earth, in the 23rd century. Query. Why do you watch it yet again?"
The old man shook his head, displaying a bit of remorse. He had seen much death in his eons of existence, and it was for that reason that he wanted to help others to prevent it from happening again. The Vrol represented an imbalance in the universe, and imbalances always need be corrected.
"Socrates, please access view portal 1-3-2818 Azul Cargalia. I am entering primary 4D coordinates now for Kamiliak calculations."
He finished entering a long string of data into the light panel to his front, and turned lazily to the left where the face, called Socrates, floated nearby. It looked remarkably like a comedy/tragedy mask of ancient Earth's theater, but with neither the laugh nor the frown, and more of a blank, uninterested expression to its face. The other difference between Socrates' face and an ancient theater mask was that it appeared to be made up of ambient, glowing particles in the air that were constantly undulating, as if a cosmic breeze flowed through them.
The semi-transparent face slowly spun 360 degrees to port and stopped after completing a full rotation, with various trailing particles catching up to the mask.
"Lord Draagh, coordinates have been received and accepted."
Draagh, as the man was called, thrust out a hand, and with a long sweeping motion wiped a new 3-meter wide view screen into existence to his right, effectively covering the massive stones in the wall of his study. More light flooded into the room, revealing his appearance. At 196 centimeters tall (just over 6'4"), with a gray beard and mustache (the mustache terminating in braids on both sides), gray hair pulled back into a ponytail that went down past his shoulders, he sported an outfit made of a scaly, black, unrecognizable leather-like hide that consisted of pants, boots and a mid-length jacket, covering a dark shirt of woven fabric. In essence, he resembled an old and very kick-ass Viking warrior.
In the new display that he had created he saw a young human male in a large warehouse, the man being roughly 25 years of age and of mixed extraction, with hazel eyes, messy, dark hair and an athletic, yet slim build, performing what appeared to be mechanical work on a small, bulky craft of unknown designation and close to 55 meters in length and 20 meters in height. The young man was using a crane to drop complex machinery onto the top of the craft, and although one without knowledge of the craft would probably not be aware of its true nature, it was an exo-atmospheric transport vehicle - spaceship for short - and it didn't look to be in very good condition.
Draagh watched with keen interest as the young man went about his various activities. Socrates floated in the air, calmly watching the view screen along with Draagh and showing a near-human bit of curiosity in his expression.
"Lord Draagh, please note your staff has been updated with both the primary insertion point and those of your requested destination of 6-3-4267 EP for the specified geo-spatial coordinates. Query. Shall I verify?"
Draagh looked back at the floating face and nodded in the affirmative, as he was always one who preferred safety to haste. Socrates spun in a slow manner 360 degrees to aft and then stopped in place.
"All coordinates verified. Safe travels. Query. May I ask what you plan on doing on SA28.18 EP? It is sparsely inhabited, and mostly by superstitious nomadic tribes. It could be quite dangerous."
Draagh grinned softly, the cycling light levels causing his blue eyes to sparkle and reflect the random flashing imagery on the view screen.
"I am going to change the future, old friend…"
Socrates made what would be considered a wry smile if he weren't a floating mask looking like it could dematerialize at any moment.
"Ever the mysterious one, my Lord. As always, I am here to help. Please do remember that once you have left The Hub there shall be an access lag if you need to call on me."
Draagh made wide, swiping motions with his hands and arms to the left, as he caused the wall display to fast-forward through time, in a manner of speaking. Images passed by in almost comical fast motion, but still maintaining perfect clarity and resolution. He fast-forwarded over much of the work the young man was doing to his craft, like harnessing the equipment he had set on top, and welding pieces of conduit to it, until arriving to the point where the work appeared to have been completed. He made several smaller swiping motions, going forward in a much slower fashion, until he saw the subject of his interest standing outside his craft, holding a small jewelry box in his hand. The young man seemed to have a sad, downcast look on his face, as he closed his eyes and bowed his head. Turning and entering the craft from the back, he shut the loading ramp and massive doors behind him.
It was at this time that Draagh watched with increased interest and displaying more than a touch of concern on his face. As the craft's engines roared to life, concussion waves from the atmospheric drive caused items on local workbenches to fly off, with tools and pipe wrenches impaling walls, the massive metal benches themselves vibrating on their legs and rattling away from the craft, with two flipping over end on end and making loud, clanging noises. The vehicle then started to lift off as the warehouse roof parted down the middle, opening up and exposing the clear blue sky.
Before he could take off, and without warning, dozens of armed, military-looking individuals dressed in black, full-faced helmets and articulated body armor burst into the warehouse, firing projectile and charge weapons at the craft while it still floated upwards.
A blaring loudspeaker, projecting enough volume to be heard within at least a five-kilometer radius, announced the true intent of the invasion.
"Attention Commander Gunnarsson. You are in violation of the Federal SSCC Non- Proliferation Act and are to be taken in for questioning. Land immediately or we will be forced to disable your craft."
With Socrates still floating close by, Draagh clenched his fists while rocking his head forward, as if he were trying to move the craft through mental will alone.
"Move boy, go now," he hissed under his breath, but the craft just hung in mid-air, shrugging off the small arms fire being laid upon its hull.
Then, without warning, the spaceship shot up and out of the warehouse into the upper atmosphere at Mach 7, violently blowing a good percentage of the invading army back into crumpled piles of unconsciousness. Pieces of the roof, dislodged from the concussive blast, fell back to the ground and took out five more soldiers.
If it weren't for gravity dampeners the craft's pilot would be been crushed like a tomato, but the young man wasn't out of the danger yet, so to speak. As he burst up toward the blackness of space, Five Draeder class exo-atmospheric attack fighters pursued in tight formation, quickly catching up to the dilapidated craft. Weapons fire erupted from the Draeders, rocking and buffeting the small transport as it screamed out of the atmosphere, still being trailed by the attack fighters.
The fleeing man pulled a lever back on his dashboard, and glowing machinery pushed out through the top of the ship, causing a rippling disruption in space that somehow followed his flight pattern. The machinery of his ship reached up and into the newly created rift, as he increased his velocity in an attempt to buy himself time and avoid certain death.
Over their communication devices, or comms, the attack fighter pilots then received their latest instructions.
"Shoot to kill. Destroy Gunnarsson and the craft along with him."
Then, as th
ey raced out of orbit, six individuals - the apparent fugitive and the five Draeder pilots - simultaneously pressed buttons on their control panels. Fortunately, for the man attempting escape, his touch was just a fraction of a second faster than the pursuing craft pilots, and his ship, the Machu Picchu, disappeared from sight and the local solar system. Charge weapons flashed into the space with silent, concussive force where the escaping ship was located only a moment prior.
"Return to base," blared the comm. The attack craft then turned back to the planet below and screamed through the atmosphere, with Draagh's vid display turning dark.
The old man bolted away from his display and moved across the room to the table where his lit candles flickered, providing their weak illumination. Setting his gnarled hands down on the worn table, he made a slight gesture toward the candles with his head, causing the flames to self-extinguish, leaving the room dark, except for the two view screens which provided only enough ambient light for one to be able to see an exit path. He paused for a moment before reaching over and picking up a large, ornate staff made of a wood that looked like mahogany. Then, leaving his study in a hurried fashion, he snapped his fingers as he departed, causing the two view screens to blink off into nothingness. Socrates also faded from view, his ubiquitous visage slowly dissolving into a stream of beautiful, bronze-colored particles which then dissipated into the atmosphere.
###
Seated in the captain's chair on the Machu Picchu, the young man that the military called Gunnarsson wore a terrified look on his face, gripping the yolk as if it were his only link to existence - trying to calm down by taking deep, slow breaths. The forward view screen displayed wild, shifting colors and energy currents going in all directions, and it didn't help that his vision sharpened immensely when he was in stressful situations. He looked upon pure and utter chaos - a definite sign that he was not in normal space, but he was on course - at least his computers told him so. He had initiated the Side Space Carrier Current Hook Drive, also known as the hook, which he had helped to develop for the Military Scientific Complex, and it was taking him to the home of his ancestors - Earth.
