Into the Stars (Rise of the Republic Book 1)

by James Rosone

  Shortly after the successful test of the Alcubierre drive, Miles been assigned to Admiral Bailey as his chief of staff and had followed his rise as Bailey had taken over as Chief of Fleet Operations, the second-highest position in Space Command.

  A momentary pause took place before the secured communication device chirped again. Miles heard a slight snicker on the other end and then a sigh. “I’m sorry, bud. I imagine I…never mind. I’m afraid there’s something critical happening out on Mars. Admiral Sanchez just left my office and ordered me to send you there to retrieve the information—as the head of Space Command, I obviously have to follow his instructions. I wouldn’t do this if it weren’t important. I proposed someone else, but Admiral Sanchez asked for you personally to retrieve it and bring it back to Space Command. Once your shuttle arrives, it’ll take you to the spaceport in Darwin. A transport shuttle will be waiting for you at the orbital station when you arrive.”

  Miles shook his head in disbelief and frustration; he couldn’t believe his luck. During his last eight years at Space Command, Admiral Sanchez had taken a liking to him, and Miles had found himself doing more and more of these secretive missions when a discreet hand was needed by either Sanchez or Bailey.

  Depressing the talk button, he responded, “I understand, sir. I’ll be waiting for the shuttle.”

  “Tell Lilly it’s my fault. I’m super sorry, Captain, but this is big. We’ll make it up to you. Bailey out.”

  Lilly suddenly appeared a meter away from him, having silently walked up to him while he had his back turned to her as he finished up the call.

  “Let me guess. You’re leaving. An hour after we got here,” Lilly said, disappointment and anger written on her face.

  Miles was visibly upset as he replied, “I’ll make it up to you, darling.”

  She snorted at the gesture. “Sure you will.” She turned to look out the window, then back at him. “Well, how much time did he say you had until the shuttle arrives?”

  “Thirty minutes,” he replied, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

  “Well, then, I guess we don’t have much time, do we, sailor?” A mischievous smirk spread on her face as she began to tear her clothes off again.

  *******

  Three Days Later

  Mars Orbital Station

  Standing in front of the floor-to-ceiling window, Captain Miles Hunt looked at the Jonathan Kim Military Shipyard, named after the Navy SEAL turned astronaut who’d first stepped foot on Mars. The shipyard was abuzz with activity. Captain Hunt could see four new patrol ships and six frigates under construction. With the increase in pirate activity in the Belt, he suspected these new ships would be busy policing the area.

  As the crawler continued its snaking descent down the stalk, he saw the far side of the shipyard before it moved out of view. There were hundreds of drones and humanoid workers expanding the construction facility. Five new construction bays were nearly done.

  Looking more closely at the frigate nearest him, Hunt saw dozens of human-looking figures crawling over the outside skin of the ship. A group of them appeared to be attaching a refractive armor panel to the starboard side of the vessel. These panels would help to deflect enemy lasers by modifying the radio frequencies through the armor plates, thereby defraying the potency of the laser. It was a relatively new technology he was only just learning about.

  The humanoid synthetics were meticulous machines that worked relentlessly. They were the worker bees of the late twenty-first century. Not being constrained by a need to breathe, the synthetics were the ultimate space workers. They could labor for days on end in the vacuum of space without needing to stop for food, water, bio breaks, or any other function a human would need. They were only limited by how long their batteries could last. Most synthetics could run on a standard charge for seven days. The heavy-duty spacers had an extended battery that allowed them to function for ten days. They made power cells that lasted for months, but humanoids were not permitted to have them—not after the last Great War in the 2040s.

  Hunt shook his head at the miracle of modern technology, then turned his attention back to the planet below as they continued their transit to the surface. The crawler advanced at a good clip, rotating as it went. The spinning created just enough artificial gravity that Hunt felt like he was back on Earth. The private sector was still trying to miniaturize the artificial gravity technology so it could be used on more than a large orbital station or starship. They had partially solved that problem for space vessels with enough power to produce the gravity well, but they were still a little ways off from integrating that technology into all spacefaring ships.

  In the meantime, DARPA had come up with something unique that appeared to alleviate part of the problem. They wrapped the bottoms of shoes and boots with a substance very similar to the membrane found on the feet of geckos, which essentially allowed a person to walk on the floor of a structure in zero g without floating away. Of course, someone could still push off and float through a ship if they wanted to, but this gave the person the ability to walk and function in an almost normal fashion. Couple that with the slight rotation of a ship during travel, and the sensation of artificial gravity was enough that it almost felt like he was back on Earth.

  Hunt figured they’d miniaturize the AG technology to fit on every spacefaring vessel at some point. In the meantime, they had some of the best AI supercomputers working on the problem. But that wasn’t why Captain Hunt had been sent to Mars. He’d been summoned by Space Command to head there for a secret mission—one so important that they had sent a shuttle all the way to Tahiti to pick him up, which meant it must be pretty earth-shattering.

  The trip down the stalk to the surface would take most of the day—not that Miles cared. He was enjoying the view and wanted the time to think. Now that the crawler was facing away from the activities of the shipyard and the station above, Hunt walked over to one of the seats that looked out at the expansive view of Mars, daydreaming about the ship he would soon take command of.

  His ship, the Rook, was still in the final phases of construction at the Elon Musk shipyard above Earth. It was the first of its class, a battlecruiser—a real brute of a ship made for deep space exploration and combat should the need arise. Constrained by the Space Exploration Treaty or SET, the battlecruiser could only be so big, so Space Command had fitted her to the gills with as much firepower and technological capabilities as they could.

  Unlike the Voyager, a deep space explorer and troopship, the Rook would be equipped with a quantum computer and its own super AI. While the Voyager was built to carry a battalion of RASs or Republic Army soldiers with her, the Rook was packed with weapons and sophisticated electronic warfare equipment.

  Opening his datapad, Hunt examined the image of the Rook’s exterior for what must have been the hundredth time. It was impressive. Despite its sleek matte black exterior, it was a squat-looking ship. The front section of the Rook held three turrets, each of which had two twenty-four-inch magnetic railguns. Its real power, though, was in its two phased-array laser banks. They were positioned near the bottom front section of the ship. For additional firepower, the ship was equipped with a series of antiship missile pods. The Rook was formidable, to say the least, and he was greatly looking forward to taking command.

  Closing the datapad, Hunt placed it on his lap and closed his eyes. He took a couple of deep breaths in and slowly let them out. He tried to clear his mind and not focus on the Rook or his wife—they weren’t his mission right now. He’d been sent to Mars for a specific reason. He needed to empty his head of everything else and focus on why he’d been sent here.

  Opening his eyes, Hunt looked at the surface of Mars. In the distance, he saw some of the mountain ranges as well as the Valles Marineris, a system of canyons that ran along the Martian surface east of the Tharsis region. At more than four thousand kilometers in length, one hundred ninety kilometers wide, and up to seven thousand meters deep in certain parts, it was a mammoth geologi
cal feature, visible even from space.

  There was a lot of talk about sealing the entire valley up and turning it into a massive habitable space. Several proposals even included the creation of lakes and rivers and an enormous effort to create a sprawling colony out of it. Hunt suspected that it would take decades if not a century to complete.

  This was Hunt’s third trip to the red planet in fifteen years. It never ceased to amaze him how fast the colony had grown since the discovery of faster-than-light travel. The volume of resources being sent from Earth to Mars had made it all possible. Of course, an army of three hundred thousand synthetics, working round the clock for a couple of decades, didn’t hurt either.

  Thinking back on it, Captain Hunt realized it had already been sixty-three years since humans had landed on the fourth planet from the sun and forever changed it. The northern polar cap was now dotted with skyscrapers made of steel and composite materials manufactured on Mars by thousands of 3-D printers. With more habitats coming online each month, the number of people immigrating to Mars from Earth continued to grow at an astonishing rate. Even with the synthetics, there was a constant demand for workers and technicians. Botanists, horticulturists, and farmers were in high demand as it became a critical priority for the colony to become not only self-sufficient but also able to grow surplus food stocks for Earth.

  In the nearby asteroid belts, the mining corporation Deep Space Industries had grown significantly. The sheer volume of resources, precious metals, and rare materials being found in the Belt was an economic bonanza. Companies like BlueOrigin had started building a massive new station between Mars, Earth, and the deep space mining operations to act as a processing and distribution system. True to the company’s roots, Amazon had also come to space.

  Resources from the Belt would be refined at the station and then sold to parties on Earth, the moon, or Mars. It was a big business, and a very lucrative one if you were willing to brave the rigors of space on your own. Many an entrepreneur had tried and failed, yet many more continued to strike it rich in the Belt.

  Returning his attention to the surface, Captain Hunt saw the eight large terraforming towers doing their part to slowly change the atmosphere of the planet. Even from this high up, he could easily spot them. He snickered to himself at the thought of one day turning this place into a habitable green space like Earth.

  Whatever pleases the masses, I suppose…

  An attendant made her way over to him, breaking his train of thought. “Excuse me, sir. Would you care for anything to eat or drink?” The woman was polite, beautiful, and attentive to the passengers on the business-class deck of the crawler.

  I really wish Lilly could have come with me, he thought. Then they could have at least enjoyed part of their second honeymoon.

  He smiled. “Yes. I’d like a whiskey, and I’ll have the herb-crusted cod with wild rice.”

  “Excellent choice. I’ll put your order in right away. Do you want to eat your dinner here, or should I have it sent to your stateroom?”

  “I’ll eat it here. It’s a beautiful view.”

  She nodded and then walked over to the next passenger sitting a couple of seats over to take her order.

  Activating his tablet, Hunt synced it to the crawler’s Wi-Fi. As his tablet connected to the server, a wave of messages and emails flooded in. Some were marked urgent, others routine.

  Activation code Sierra, Kilo, Yankee, November, Echo, Tango, five-niner, Hunt said internally to himself. A second later, the personal assistant that was embedded in his cybernetic implant activated and synced itself with the crawler’s Wi-Fi and server, downloading the same messages and information as his tablet had.

  Skynet, develop a response to the routine messages, answering their questions. Open first urgent message now, Hunt thought.

  It had been four years since he’d received one of the neurolink implants, or NLs as people called them. He still hadn’t fully gotten used to it. For one, it felt strange having an implant inside your brain, and it was still odd having an AI talking to him in his head and handling nearly all the mundane tasks he used to do himself. It was convenient as hell, but it always felt weird that an AI seemed to understand his intentions and responses to nearly any email or message he’d want to reply to. He’d named his PA Skynet because it was always interrupting his train of thought with a message or question when he was in the middle of doing something. The AI had gotten better after the first six months, but he still liked to call it Skynet out of spite. When he’d been promoted to captain, the neurolink had been a necessity. For the time being, it was a technology used only by the senior ranks of Space Command and Special Forces, but he suspected it would be implemented across the rest of the force and in the civilian world at some point.

  Open the first urgent message, he thought.

  First urgent message, the silent voice replied in his head.

  Captain Miles Hunt,

  You are to proceed to sector five, where you will receive a classified brief from Commander Niles and Dr. Johnson from DARPA. You must safeguard what you are about to be told and bring that data back to Space Command immediately.

  Following your brief, the RNS Victory will return you to Earth. Do not discuss the information with anyone.

  End of message.

  Signed,

  Admiral Sanchez

  Commander, US Space Command

  Hunt shook his head. So this is why I was urgently dispatched to Mars, he thought. Lilly would kill him if she knew that he was missing their thirtieth wedding anniversary just for another cloak-and-dagger courier mission.

  Just then, the stewardess brought him his dinner and a refill of whiskey. Before she had a chance to leave, Hunt got her attention. “Excuse me, ma’am. How long until we arrive on the surface?”

  “Five hours,” she replied with a smile. “Do you need anything else?”

  “No, I’m great. Thanks,” he replied.

  As she left, Hunt thought more about the message. He wondered what was so important that it required him to travel here in person to retrieve it.

  When he had finished his meal and his second whiskey, he made his way over to his sleeping quarters to catch a few hours’ rest. He set an alarm on his neurolink for an hour before arrival so he could focus on sleeping. Something told him he wouldn’t be getting much rest once he was on the ground.

  The crawlers on the space elevators, or beanstalks as they were called, had multiple levels. There were three coach levels, one business-class level, and four warehouse levels. The warehouse decks were the ones used to transport goods from the orbital station above, and minerals and resources from the surface back to space.

  The space elevators were incredibly complex logistical systems that had taken more than a decade to construct. The massive crawlers would move in a circular crawling motion, either up or down the twists in the beanstalk linking the planet’s surface with the orbital station above. It was an incredibly efficient way to move people and resources between the surface and space. Once built, they had led to the rapid expansion of the colonies on the moon, Mars, and soon Venus and several moons around Jupiter.

  After lying down, Hunt fell into a deep sleep, which was inevitably interrupted by a loud ding in his head that got louder and more annoying until he was awake enough to tell it to turn off.

  Good morning, Captain Hunt, his PA announced in his mind. We will be landing on the surface in one hour. Please begin to collect and secure your belongings. If you would like to be served breakfast, please head over to the bar in the center of the crawler.

  Hunt yawned and brushed off the blanket as he placed his feet on the floor and slid them into his boots. After he fastened them, he put on his military jacket. Grabbing his tablet, he made his way over to the bar to grab a quick breakfast.

  A few dozen other travelers had beaten him there, grabbing some of the better seats near the windows. Most were eating breakfast and making small talk with each other. He found a spot where he was mo
stly alone and sat down to eat.

  Forty-one minutes later, the crawler touched down on the surface and connected itself to the ground port. The passengers began lining up near the exits as they waited for the two parts to seal and pressurize.

  A moment later, a green light above the doors turned on, and they opened up. Captain Hunt heard a slight hissing sound and then the passengers began to disembark.

  As he walked off the crawler and into the hallway that led to the immigration control booth, Hunt pulled out his military ID and his orders. The civilian passengers around him pulled out their passports and their authorization documentation for the inspectors.

  While the colonies on Mars were growing, the governments that serviced the various habitats tightly controlled the number of people who could immigrate to the planet or visit it as tourists. Growing food and developing the local economy and lodging on the planet was a top priority, and it just wouldn’t be possible to accomplish that if the floodgates were opened wide to any and all new immigrants. Everything on the planet was structured to make sure the highly regulated resources could sustain the residents who’d already populated Mars.

  It was nearly impossible to enter Mars illegally, but that didn’t mean people didn’t try from time to time. There were also occasional problems with illegal contraband brought from Earth, like narcotics that couldn’t be grown or cooked on the red planet.

  A working dog made its way through the passengers, sniffing them and their bags. Its handler stood not too far away, allowing the canine to do its job.

  Captain Hunt advanced steadily until he stood in front of one of the immigration booths. The man standing behind the counter saw his uniform. “Good morning, Captain, may I see your ID and orders?” he asked. He had a pleasant but stern look on his face as he eyed him suspiciously.

  Hunt handed him the documents and waited. The agent scanned his ID and quickly read his orders. A moment later, his demeanor changed, and he gave everything back to Hunt. “Please enjoy your stay, Captain. Next person.”