by Joshua James
“At ease, chief. Everything set for our fold?” Saito surveyed what he could see of the activity buzzing around.
“We’re good to go, sir. We had that minor hiccup with the repeater in the main drive, but I took care of that last night.” Molly wiped the sweat and grease from her very young-looking face. With so much technology working hard in a confined space, the engineering rooms were always an oven.
“Good. Very good.” Saito nodded his head. “Well, get your people strapped in and ready. We go in ten minutes.”
“Outstanding.” Liu saluted Saito with a grin before hurrying away to round up her staff.
Saito’s guards hurried him towards the secured transport that ran the length of the ship. He didn’t have time to walk to the bridge; it was almost two kilometers away.
Saito looked out the thick multilayered windows of the on-board transport as it ran across rails towards the front of the Atlas. Technically inside the ship, it ran next to a set of exterior supports, giving a clear view of space.
Saito stared at Earth. It looked so close, but distance in space was deceiving. Countless satellites circled around it, along with launch stations and flight decks just barely within the planet’s orbit. Nothing, except for his wife and son, was ever that beautiful.
With their backs to Saito, the Marines guarding him didn’t notice him bringing up a picture in his HUD. He looked at it before every mission, as a motivator. Considering his family circumstances, it meant a little more that morning.
The picture had been taken when Ben was seven or eight. Saito and Beverly had taken him to the beach, specifically the boardwalk. Ben had really wanted a stuffed animal, and the only way to get one was to knock down a stack of milk cans with a baseball.
Saito knew the carnival game was rigged. Everyone knew it. If it wasn’t, they’d have to give up far too many stuffed animals and t-shirts to remain a viable business. But Ben wanted a prize, and he’d do anything for his son.
As he looked at the picture, Saito realized that it wasn’t true; he wouldn’t do anything for his son. Ben was in the hospital, having not only lost an arm and a leg, but also his mother. The next day, the next morning, he’d left him, alone.
The transport stopped at the door to the bridge airlock. Once inside, it shut behind him, cycled air, and waited for the interior hatch to open.
The bridge was one of the largest spaces on the Atlas. A massive projected curved digital video screen, with an area of about six hundred meters, surrounded everything and everyone on the bridge. Its design was actually inspired by an ancient piece of technology, the IMAX screen. Dozens of cameras, set up around the front of the ship, served as an almost 180-degree viewing window, while keeping those inside behind the powered dreadnought armor.
Saito took his command seat. “Where are we?”
“Full fold protocol has begun, sir,” said the tactical officer behind him.
“Very well.”
There were two seats just below Saito’s. They belonged to the Atlas’ pilots, Lieutenant Ronaldo Sousa and the lead, Major Anastasia Chevenko. Unlike the captain’s controls, which were all accessed via his HUD – and his alone, per UEF security protocols – theirs were physical and attached to their chairs themselves.
“Captain,” greeted Sousa. Like most pilots, he was a small man, and like all UEF military, he was fit. But unlike most, he wore a long beard dyed blond, the result of some religious exemption that Saito doubted he adhered to. The free soul of the Atlas took his seat and signed in.
“Spin up the engines,” Saito said.
“Sir, yes, sir.” Sousa put on his mag bracelets and activated the small metal plates in the back of his standard-issue UEF uniform.
Chevenko nodded to Saito and Sousa as she sat down in her seat and put on her mag bracelets.
“Major, open comms, give the order, and hand over the mic,” ordered Saito as, via his HUD, he went through the standard procedures leading up to a fold. Each wave of his hand checked off another item on the required list.
“This is Major Chevenko, lead pilot of the Atlas. All crew apply mag bracelets and prep for fold jump. Fold in two minutes.”
The other crew on the Atlas’ bridge took their seats and positions around the room. Everyone was tense, though many of them had jumped countless times. Practically every mission required it. Still, if somebody didn’t dot an “i” or cross a “t,” their atoms would be scattered across the universe.
“Crew of the Atlas, this is your captain, Lee Saito. You don’t need me to tell you how important our mission is, but I’m going to anyway. Every one of you has the chance here to be a part of history. Be a part of a new chapter of history after a long war that has cost all of us…” Beverly Saito’s dead body flashed through Saito’s mind, her fear and confusion forever captured in her dead eyes. “It’s cost everyone so much, and it’s time to heal. I ask of you the same that every soldier is asked the second they put on this uniform. I ask for your best: nothing more, nothing less. Just your best.” He paused. “Prepare for imminent fold jump. Bridge out.”
As the Bender engines spun up, the whole ship vibrated. The main lights in the Atlas went off in order to divert as much power as possible to the fold jump. Red emergency lighting replaced them. The screen on deck went off, leaving them blind.
“Fold in T-minus ten seconds. Activating magnetic restraints.” Chevenko turned on the restraints meant to keep passengers safely in place. There was a buzzing noise, and every seated crewmember was pulled back into their seats, arms pinned to the armrests by the wrists.
“Fold in five, four…” As Chevenko counted down, Lee felt the same tingling sensation that everyone on board the Atlas felt. The hair on his arms and neck stood on end. Next came the instant nausea; hence the Be Wells. He gripped his chair’s armrests tightly. The moment of jump was the worst part.
“One.”
Eleven
Ada
War had a nasty way of robbing the young of their futures. PFC Ada Ericsson was one who’d had hers cruelly wrenched away. Less than a year earlier, she had just graduated law school in Stockholm and was on her way to a cushy job anywhere she wanted. Now she was leaving a mess hall on a flying fortress bound for the capital planet of the government that her own had been at war with for over twenty years.
“So this is your first time?” asked Ada’s one and only friend on board the Atlas, PFC Tanya Martin.
“Hmmm?” Ada was so lost in her own head she didn’t hear her friend.
“First time doing the ol’ fold jump?”
“Is it that obvious?” asked Ada as she took her seat. They were in the Marines’ headquarters inside the Atlas. Just off the ship’s docking bay, it held the majority of Marines on board and provided more than enough seats, all in lined up rows meant for the fold jump.
“This is Major Chevenko, lead pilot of the Atlas. All crew apply mag bracelets and prep for fold jump. Fold in two minutes.”
I’m not ready for this. How did I get here?
Ada found her thoughts drifting away to a year prior, almost to the day. She was home, just outside Stockholm, celebrating her graduation from law school.
“To my lovely, brilliant daughter, Ada.” Ada’s father Gustaf proposed a toast, glass of champagne from a newly-opened bottle in hand. Gustaf made eye contact with her as he smiled with immense pride. “When I look at you, I still see that rambunctious, willful little girl. But not for long. After tomorrow I shall see a woman, smarter than myself and more driven then any person I’ve ever known. Words cannot convey how proud I am of you and how much I love you.”
Ada remembered crying. Normally a tough woman, she couldn’t stop herself. It wasn’t so much the situation, or even her father’s words, as kind as they were. It was the fact that her mother wasn’t there to witness any of it.
Drafted, her mother had died on a UEF warship somewhere in space. Ada and her father were never told exactly where, just that their ship was lost during a battle with the AIC. Ad
a was eight years old. That was part of the reason she had gone into law school.
According to UEF law, citizens couldn’t be drafted if they were enrolled at a university. Once out of university, any college-educated citizen who was employed in their studied field was also exempt. Ada and her family had thought she was safe.
“So, a toast to my brilliant Ada,” Gustaf looked around his family cabin’s dining room. Aunts, uncles, and cousins were all there to celebrate Ada’s success.
As if God himself were mocking Ada, it was in that moment, as she downed her champagne, that she got an incoming message on her HUD. It was from the UEF Military Services.
“Hey,” snapped Martin, bringing Ada out of her thoughts. “What’re you waiting for? Get those mag bracelets on. Trust me, you’ll need them.”
“How long does it take?” asked Ada.
“Don’t worry, it’s quick.”
“I heard it feels…strange.”
Martin laughed. “No shit, it feels strange. We’re breaking the laws of physics and traveling billions of light years in minutes.”
Ada could feel the sweat forming under her armpits and on her forehead. It only got worse as more and more Marines filed in and took their seats. She slapped on her bracelets.
“Okay, it’s time to take your Be Wells!” ordered Sergeant Holly “Ho-Ho” Thomas as he stood at the front of the enclosed Marine HQ. The Marines all reached in the front pocket of their uniforms and took out the foil casings housing two small pills.
Ada reached into the front pocket of her uniform. The Marine uniforms were a little different than those of the naval crew. There were the surface cosmetic differences, dark green instead of grey. More pockets in the pants and shirt housed ammunition. They also carried stim shots, insta-bandages, morphine, and other medical supplies. Basically, they were equipped for ground battle or fighting aboard a ship.
Unsure, Ada held the pills in her hand and stared at them for a moment. Then she downed them in one gulp. Her hands shook.
Martin gave her a playful elbow. “Try and relax. This is gonna go a lot better if you aren’t freaking out.”
“Do the Be Wells work?” Ada tried not to pay attention to Thomas closing and locking the doors to Marine HQ.
“Sort of. They say they’re supposed to lessen the nausea and just plain weirdness you feel after the jump. But I think they’re just placebos, ya know? Sugar pills.”
Ada and the rest of the Marines on board heard the voice of their captain.
“Crew of the Atlas, this is your captain, Lee Saito. You don’t need me to tell you how important our mission is, but I’m going to anyway. Every one of you has the chance here to be a part of history. Be a part of a new chapter of history after a long war that has cost all of us … It’s cost everyone so much, and it’s time to heal. I ask of you the same that every soldier is asked the second they put on this uniform. I ask for your best: nothing more, nothing less. Just your best.” He paused. “Prepare for imminent fold jump. Bridge out.”
“Pep talk over,” Martin said. “Here we go.”
The Marine HQ was close to the engines at the back of the ship. It started to shake as the Bender engines spun up. They could hear the loud grinding and electric noise as they prepared to literally fold space and time. All the lights in the room went off and were replaced by red emergency lighting.
“Fold in T-minus ten seconds. Activating magnetic restraints.” Chevenko started the countdown over the intercom.
I’m not ready for this.
There was a buzzing noise, and Ada was pulled rather powerfully back into her seat. Her hands were forcefully parted from Martin’s, pinned to the seat’s armrests.
“Just remember, girl...” Martin made a point of making eye contact with Ada.
“Five, four, three…”
“It’ll all be over before you know it.”
The hairs on Ada’s arms and neck stood up. She already felt like she was going to throw up. An unpleasant tingling sensation ran across every nerve in her body.
“One.”
Twelve
Lee
As soon as they completed the fold jump, the screens and instruments on the Atlas’ bridge turned back on. Everyone on it was greeted by the unwelcome sight of four AIC dreadnoughts, along with what must’ve been thirty or forty fighter ships. They were waiting for them.
“Sir?” asked a confused Sousa. He was turned around in his chair looking at Saito, waiting for guidance. Chevenko was doing the same.
“Call Commander Rollins,” Saito ordered his HUD system. Within seconds, his second-in-command answered.
“Sir, are you seeing this?” asked Rollins.
“Of course I am, Jake. Let’s not rush to any conclusions. They knew we were coming; we told them. This might just be a welcoming party set to escort us to Vassar-1.” Saito wasn’t alarmed; he was steady, calm.
“That’s the thing, sir.” Rollins wasn’t on the main bridge, but in the communications and navigation bridge, the secondary located right below. “We aren’t anywhere near our fold location. And they aren’t answering.”
“Try to raise them again, transfer comms to the bridge.”
The Atlas didn’t take any defensive or offensive actions yet. Neither did the fleet of AIC ships.
“Nothing, sir,” said Rollins.
“Again,” ordered Saito.
There was no answer. This doesn’t feel right.
“Okay, listen up, people. Raise shields and arm the bow, port, and starboard cannons. Commander, inform the docking bay to prepare to launch fighters.” Saito chose to follow his gut. Nothing about the situation felt right. He was fairly certain they were in for a fight.
“Sir, there’s a problem,” said Rollins. Saito could see that he looked concerned through the video call.
“Elaborate, Commander.”
“The Atlas’ shields, sir, they aren’t responding. We have no shields.”
“That’s not possible. Try again.” Saito couldn’t believe his ears. There was no way they would have let the Atlas leave Annapolis without checking, double-checking, triple- and quadruple-checking every system to make sure they operated properly.
“Nothing, sir,” reported Rollins.
“Stand by. End call. Call Chief Engineer Liu.” As Saito waited for his chief engineer to pick up the call, his finger tapped a little nervously on his armrest. His eyes were focused on the bridge screen and the AIC ships.
Saito saw a small slash of light near the bottom of one of the AIC dreadnoughts in the distance. Experience told him what it was.
Torpedo.
“Turn hard to starboard, man battle positions! We’re under attack!” ordered Saito. He ordered his HUD to change to one better suited for the fight that was coming. “Switch to battle mode.”
The general quarters siren blared throughout the Atlas, signaling to every crewmember that they needed to get to their stations immediately.
There was a very loud bang, and the Atlas briefly shook. It wasn’t the torpedo. From what Saito could tell, it came from inside the ship.
“Captain! We’ve lost the sticks!” yelled Chevenko.
“Say again?”
“Engines one, two, three, and seven are all offline,” said Sousa. “We can divert power to four, five, and six to turn, but our maneuverability is going to be severely limited.”
“Do it. Avoid that torpedo.”
“Roger that, sir, diverting power,” said Sousa as he shunted all energy from the downed engines to the ones that worked.
“Switching to manual, turning hard starboard.” Chevenko switched from the screens of the digital controls to the actual literal control sticks. She struggled to turn them and the dreadnought enough to avoid the oncoming torpedo.
Saito knew everything that was happening was wrong. Why was the AIC attacking? Was it all a trap to get the potentially world-ending weapons on board the Atlas? Maybe, but how would they know that they had them? Only a select few were privy to t
hat information. Where did that first explosion come from? Probably the engine room, seeing that so many of them were out at once, but how was that possible?
There was no time to worry about the myriad of questions. He knew he had to focus on the here and now, and that meant surviving the engagement with the AIC fleet.
“Fire bow cannons, full power. Launch seeker torpedoes and ready the anti-fighter defenses.” Saito got up out of his chair and walked forward, towards the screen on the bridge.
Light them up and make them regret engaging the most advanced dreadnought in human history.
Chevenko barely managed to turn the Atlas enough to dodge the torpedo. It passed only feet from the armored hull.
“Launch our fighters,” ordered Saito as he watched space light up with the unleashed firepower of the Atlas. It would’ve been beautiful if it wasn’t so deadly.
Saito had seen and engaged more than his fair share of enemy fighter ships. In his time he’d seen every maneuver that AIC T-34s were capable of making, and he knew their tactics by heart. That was why he thought it odd when the fighters with the fleet all moved in unison in their attack, like there was no fear of a counterattack.
Like a living wave of metal, glass, and highly advanced and destructive weapons, the AIC fighters soon engulfed the Atlas. They were everywhere, taking pieces out of the dreadnought like a swarm of locusts.
“Weapons free. Shoot those sons of bitches down. Even the Atlas can’t take too much more of this. Where are my fighters?” Saito knew things were going downhill fast. Without shields the dreadnought, even one as well-armed and armored as his ship, couldn’t withstand much more. As soon as the enemy dreadnoughts got involved, the fight was over.
I need to get us out of here. There’s no winning this fight.
“Where are—” The Atlas shook. “Damage report!” ordered Saito.
“We’ve lost the docking bay, sir,” Rollins said.
