The Omarian Gambit: A Pax Aeterna Novel

by Trevor Wyatt

  Not that we didn’t try. We made several diplomatic overtures, and while diplomatic talks were opened up after first contact with the Sonali, they’ve progressed very little.

  The abject hatred of Earth and the Terran Union’s tolerance for alien life has always stopped them. And now they’re howling through the presses about being shut out from the benefits of the council.

  You should have thought about that when you were breaking away from the Union, I think.

  I feel the soft thrum of our sub light engine as we break out of Earth’s orbit. I’d already given the order to set a course for the border. I also ordered that we don’t engage the FTL drive until I am back on the CNC.

  At sub light, we were going to be at the moon in ten minutes. We would be exiting the solar system in an hour or so.

  My comm chirps.

  “Captain Jeryl, here,” I say.

  There is a pause.

  I look at the display readout on my desk to see who I’m speaking with. It’s the communications officer.

  “Is there a problem, Commander?” I ask.

  The commander clears his throat. “No, sir. It’s just that it’s weird to hear you address yourself as Captain.”

  “Well, Lieutenant, it was either this or I get tossed out of the force,” I reply.

  “I’m sorry about the wrong turn of events, sir, however, I’m glad to have you back as our Captain.”

  I smile. “My wife was doing a great job, wasn’t she?”

  “Fantastic one, sir!” the communications officer replies in haste. “She’s just not you. For what it’s worth, sir, I trust you with my life. And I’m willing to go anywhere with you as my captain. Sir, I know I speak for everyone when I say that.”

  “Thanks, commander,” I say. “That means a lot. And I’m glad to be back. It’s where I’ve always wanted to be, anyway. Armada Command thinks this is a punishment. They don’t know it’s a dream come true.”

  There is a short silence.

  I clear my throat. “Did you want to tell me something?”

  “Yes, sir,” the communications officer says. “Admiral Flynn is requesting a slipstream connection with you.”

  “Put him through,” I say.

  “Aye, captain.”

  Without warning, a life-size Admiral Flynn erupts in the center of my office, courtesy of the new holoprojectors outfitted on The Seeker while in orbit of Earth. The tall man is standing right in front of me, his hands held behind his back and looking smart.

  “I’m glad you weren’t hurt by the board’s decision,” I say, genuinely meaning every word.

  The day after we had received our judgment, I contacted Admiral Flynn to find out is he had suffered for his supposed instructions. It turned out they had only issued a stern warning and a note in his file, which doesn’t matter much now that he was a full-fledged Admiral. I was thrilled to find out he hadn’t been demoted or sanctioned or even put on trial, because even Admirals report to the Terran Council. A supposedly powerful Admiral could be brought down by the Union. As ultimately, we all report to civilians.

  This did not happen to Flynn. Only a stern warning and a useless note in his file, watered down by his advocate. It reinforces Flynn’s belief that they just wanted me for going over their head with the Galactic Council and the Union. It’s a sad thing to know that corruption and envy and greed exist in this institution that I cherish with my life.

  Since this is the case, it is better I remain in the stars, exploring…and yes, fighting, than behind a desk, pandering to a set of insecure, weak Armada brasses.

  Admiral Flynn flashes me a sympathetic look. “I told you they didn’t give two shits about what you did, son. They just wanted to put you in your place. They wanted to show you that they were still in charge and that you still report to them.”

  I say, “That’s disheartening, sir. Not the demotion, but the reason behind it. If I were paying for my sins, then that’s okay. But I’m not. I’m paying this price because I tickled some top Armada official’s fancy.”

  Admiral Flynn shrugs. “It’s politics, son,” he says.

  “The Military is not a political organization,” I reply.

  “All organization is a political organization,” he claps back, holding my gaze for a brief moment before beginning to pace. He only paced when he was antsy.

  “What’s going on?” I ask. “Why are you so edgy?”

  He stops and looks me in the eye. “This isn’t over, Jeryl. I’ll fix it.”

  “No, you won’t sir,” I reply. I rise to my feet and walk all the way around my desk until I’m sitting on the forward portion of my desk, facing the Admiral.

  “You didn’t cause this,” I say. “There’s no need to fix it. Perhaps, I don’t want you getting into trouble because of this. I am here to serve and I will serve in whatever capacity Armada Command deems fit. If they deem it fit for me to captain a ship, then so be it.

  “I don’t want you raising dust and becoming their target.”

  The Admiral smiles. “You always were an honorable man,” he says.

  I smile back. “I guess that’s one of my fatal flaws.”

  “It’s what makes you such a great officer,” Admiral Flynn says, all of a sudden serious again. “And a good friend.”

  For a moment, we shared a connection, a bond that had been forged in our days back at the Academy when he was my senior.

  “As for your mission, you will be reporting directly to me,” he says.

  I frown. “I thought I’d be reporting to Admiral Ford?” My orders had said Admiral Ford of Armada Command in New Washington.

  He shakes his head. “I got them to change it. I want you reporting to me. I don’t want any obstacles in your career. I think after eight fucking years, we make a great team.”

  I smile at the Admiral. “Thanks, sir,” I say.

  Admiral Flynn nods at me. “See you in a month. Admiral Flynn out.”

  The image vanishes from the screen and I am once again left alone in my ready room.

  “Captain, please come to the CNC,” the communications officers voice comes through the intercom. “There’s something you should see.”

  I compose myself before walking into the CNC.

  “Captain in the CNC!” roars one of the three security personnel stationed in the CNC.

  “At ease, everyone,” I say aloud.

  Commander Ashley is at her station. She winks at me, and I nod back. I walk straight to the captain’s chair and I sit in it.

  Memories surge in my mind. For a moment, I am overwhelmed. I manage to take control of these memories and force them to the back of my mind. Then I bring my erratic emotions under control.

  I look up at the communications officer.

  “What is the matter, Commander?”

  “We just received a priority message, sir,” he says. “It’s sent directly to us, but it’s also broadcasting across all frequencies.” He turns to look at me. “It means everyone can hear what the message says.”

  “Where is the message from?” I ask.

  “It appears to originate from somewhere within the Tyreesian space,” the communications officer says.

  “Greer…” I mutter.

  “Put it on the screen,” I order.

  “Aye, sir,” he says and returns his attention back to his workstation.

  Soon after, a firm looking Greer appears on the screen.

  “I speak on behalf of the Tyreesian collective when I say this. The Galactic Council will fall. The Tyreesian collective is an enemy to this Council and does not support it in any way. We hereby issue a warning to every race that is a signatory to the unholy pact, stay away from Tyreesian space. We will view any and every ship that enters our space as a provocation and we will destroy it with immediacy.

  “And to you, Vice Admiral…or should I say Captain Jeryl Montgomery. You may have succeeded in this round, but don’t get comfortable. This is far from over.”

  The Tyreesian vanished fr
om the screen, plunging the CNC into silence.

  Everyone turns to look at me.

  I heave a loud sigh. Then flash a smile. “Well, at least they got the memo about my new command.”

  The CNC erupts into laughter.

  “What are we going to do about that message?” Ashley asks. “This is an obvious threat to our sovereignty as a people as well as the integrity of the Galactic Council.”

  “Yes, sir,” says the science officer. “I agree with the First Officer. This threat is an act of war. We have to respond in kind.”

  “In kind?” I ask.

  “Yes,” the science officer replies with a straight face. “We have to send a strongly-worded message saying we will not be bullied or subjugated by the Tyreesians and that any attack whatsoever upon any of our vessel will see us bringing the full might of the Armada and the combined military of the Galactic Council to bear on the Tyreesian home world.”

  “True,” I say. “But that’s above my pay grade. We have a one month patrol mission. Why not focus on that and leave the message to the Admirals back at Armada command?”

  This is where the science officer cracks a smile. Relief washes through.

  “Aye, sir,” he says.

  CNC can tell I don’t really give a shit about Greer. Let someone else handle it.

  I want to explore space. Find peace.

  “Is course set for the border?” I ask.

  “Aye, sir,” the navigations officer replies. “FTL is primed and ready. On you go.”

  I sigh.

  Such a good feeling.

  “Go,” I say.

  The Pax Aeterna Universe

  Pax Aeterna is the name of the science fiction universe created by Trevor Wyatt.It explores humanity as it explores and grows in its journey into the stars, taking its place amongst other species in the universe.The series features around human conflicts, internal as well as those external.

  Included you will find a full length novel and two short stories that explore more of the Pax Aeterna universe.

  •The Seeker - The events of the Earth-Sonali War from the perspective of the crew of TUS The Seeker

  •The Mariner - It was a routine investigation. Stellar phenomena. Nothing major. A blip on the road to shore leave. Except the crew of The Mariner never expected to find what they encountered...In space. Or with each other.

  •Phantom - A simple smuggling job gets way more complicated when they are boarded by an Armada cruiser and given a choice. Carry out a mission for the Terran Union, or rot in jail.

  After that, learn more of the universe with an excerpt from the Encyclopdia Aeterna.

  The Seeker

  Humanity has colonized the stars.

  Over 150 years, no intelligent life has appeared

  But when it does...

  It will greet us with blood and fire.

  It was supposed to be the dawn of a new age.

  The Terran Union was spread over dozens of worlds.

  Peace reigned in our space.

  Sure, there were problems with the Outer Colonies.

  Some problems with pirates.

  But we weren't prepared for First Contact.

  We weren't ready for the war.

  We watched as the aliens burned our worlds.

  We tried desperately to fight back at first.

  But it was in vain.

  Eventually, we learned from our failures.

  We became stronger. Tougher.

  Now, we have our forces ready.

  We aim to strike back.

  Show that humanity is stronger.

  We have one last chance to strike at them.

  If we succeed, we survive.

  If not, we die.

  Now the only question is...

  Are we prepared to lose our souls to ensure our lives?

  Book I

  Jeryl

  The vastness of space is always disquieting. Sure it’s beautiful to look at. But in the back of your mind, you also know that you’re hurtling through empty space in a microcarbon tetrapolymer tube. One small deviation from some pretty tight specs and your ass is grass—lungs bursting as you depressurize.

  No matter the stellar phenomena that we chart. No matter the beauty that we see. At the back of my mind is always the notion that space is cold. Unforgiving. Empty. It doesn’t care whether you’re good or evil. It doesn’t care about your political faction. Or whether you hooked up with your first officer on shore leave. It kills with impunity.

  I’m sitting in CNC on the Terran Union Starship that they’ve named The Seeker. I used to hate that name when I first took command. Now I love it. Two years of commanding an Armada frigate patrolling the border with the Outer Colonies will do that to you. I know each of my crew personally. Hell, I hand-selected almost all of them at some point or another as people left and needed replacing.

  “We’re approaching the last known coordinates of The Mariner, Captain,” our navigator, Henry Docherty, calls out from his station.

  “Cut FTL drive and return to normal space,” I order, sitting back in my chair. I can feel the hum of the ship change as the FTL drives are disengaged from Engineering. The ship falls into the normal space from the folded space it was travelling in.

  “Visual,” I order and the view screen comes on in front of me. It dominates the far wall of CNC and gives me the visual sensors to see what’s happening outside of The Seeker. Sure, there are double-plated transparent microcarbon glass panels running along the sides of CNC, but I don’t know what the designers of this frigate assumed they would do. They’re as big as portholes on an ancient seafaring craft. You can’t hop on tip-toed and look out to get a view of the outside. You can’t make command decisions.

  I bet it was done to bolster morale. To distract people from becoming claustrophobic. To not have them dwell on the fact that they’re in a box travelling several times the speed of light through the cold unknown.

  Only, I wouldn’t want to look out of the fucking windows and keep being reminded of that, if I really had a problem.

  “Mr. Lannigan,” I say to my Science Officer. “Coordinate with Ms. Fires and scan the area for The Mariner.”

  The science officer nods and makes room at his station as Ashley Fires—the shapely first officer for The Seeker—comes over to join him.

  Not for the first time do I sigh as I watch them work. I’ve done everything that a Captain can do in this situation. I’ve delegated tasks to my crew and now all I can do is sit back and wait for the next piece of information on this godforsaken mission.

  I know. I don’t sound too happy. Well, that’s because I’m not.

  We’re out here in the far fringes of the Terran Union. The closest station, Edoris Station, is 20 light years away. That’s roughly 20 days that we’ve been travelling. No colonies. Just empty space and giant balls of gas and dust.

  Admiral Flynn was insistent that The Seeker had to go see this out.

  “Jeryl,” he said to me. “If it is something where the Outer Colonies are trying to come through our back door, no other person I want investigating it than you.”

  The only problem with that logic?

  The Outer Colonies are all the way on the other side of the Terran Union. Even if they had ships as powerful as the Union, I doubt they could get all the way around it without attracting some sort of attention. Besides, the distance to traverse through empty space would be prohibitive.

  Which means, the more I think about it, that whatever is causing The Mariner to not respond to hails from Edoris Station is not related to the Outer Colonies. And I would know. I’ve had experience on the border. Most of my time in the Armada has been rotating on and off ships that patrol the border.

  There’s brush fires, sure. Isolated incursions. More to harry and provoke The Union than anything else.

  I mean, there hasn’t been a war since as long as I can remember. Hell, since as long as anyone can remember. The last sustained conflict was during The Schism. That was
just about fifty years ago. Back in 2147. Everyone knows about it because they teach you in History. But no one who lived through it is around serving in The Armada now.

  So all we have to go by is what we learned in school – how Earth sent out her children into the stars. And how those children grew older and began to help their ailing parents from the ravages of its nuclear war. How rebuilding Earth was deemed to be impossible—after the nuclear wars that rocked the planet, scientists of the mid-21st Century said it would take at least a thousand years of rebuilding for the planet to go back to pre-World War III conditions.

  Except they hadn’t factored in space travel. Or colonies. They hadn’t factored in humanity’s drive to survive when backed against the wall. And how from the ashes of post-atomic horror Earth came together. Did away with the old institutions. Implemented a unified voice. Looked to its children to go into the stars and send back the resources to rebuild.

  And rebuild they did. To the exclusion of all else. Large percentages of colony budgets were earmarked for rebuilding efforts, and for the first generation or two it was done with pride. People were contributing toward the rebirth of the cradle of humanity.

  But fast forward to another generation and you see grudging acceptance of the way of life that called for sacrifices to be made so that a world that very few had ever seen could prosper.

  Another generation and you see hostility at the situation of giving up your hard work for a world hundreds of light years away. And then the farthest of Earth’s children—those in the outermost colonies—said one day that they’ve had enough.

  They threw off the yoke, as they believed it to be. And once again, humanity went to war.

  But that was fifty years ago. The Terran Armada was nothing compared to what it is today. Rebuilding was the focus, remember? There was a very little need for defensive or offensive space ships. We hadn’t encountered any alien life. We still haven’t. The few frigates and cruisers that were in service were used to ensure hostilities didn’t get too bad. And to ensure that the proper material flowed back to the Homeworld.