by Tori Harris
In his peripheral vision, Lee noticed a flashing icon indicating that an urgent, text-only message had been routed to his console. It was uncommon for “private” messages of any sort to be delivered to Fleet personnel during their duty hours. But for those rare instances requiring that urgent information reach specific crewmembers, the comm system onboard retained the capability to route messages directly to their intended recipients in real-time. Desperate to pass the remaining seconds until Theseus could depart the area with Rescue 11’s shuttle safely secured within the confines of her hangar bay, Lee tapped the message icon. In an open section of his console’s screen, a window opened to display the following message:
To: Lee, Jayston (Lieutenant, Junior Grade, TFC)
From: Lee, Jackson (First Lieutenant (Marines), TFC)
Subject: Just in Case
Theseus just transitioned in to pick us up, but even though I know you’re just a few seconds away from bringing our shuttle aboard, I just got the strangest feeling that this might be my last chance to talk to you. I think I understand now what Nanna meant when she talked about someone “pointing the bones” at her. Anyway, I obviously don’t have much time and don’t know what to say anyway, but if something happens, please tell Mum and Dad that I never had to hurt anyone in my job, and I was doing my best to save lives on my last mission rather than take them. That should please them. Make sure they understand that we both love what we do and wouldn’t change a thing if we had it all to do over again.
Love all three of you heaps and I’ll see you in the Dreamtime,
Jackson
The message was so unlike anything he had ever heard Jackson say that it caused an involuntary chill to run down the length of his spine. Squirming uncomfortably in his seat as he fought to overcome the empty, sick feeling that had materialized in the pit of his stomach, Jayston realized with inexplicable certainty that he would never see his twin brother again.
***
It had taken the Zhelov and Serapion a few moments to alter their relative positions slightly in order to ensure that as many of their starboard beam emitters as possible would bear on their third and final target. Their captains had been given explicit orders from Commodore Sarafi that they were to ensure the complete destruction of all three of the disabled Resistance ships — and to such an extent that there would be little chance of any useful materiel or technology being recovered by the Terrans. Accordingly, several minutes’ worth of uninterrupted energy weapons fire from the two enormous battleships had reduced both the Baldev and the Babayev to a pair of rapidly expanding debris fields. Now it was the Keturah’s turn.
With the methodical attacks being handled almost exclusively by the two warships’ AIs, their bridge crews simply monitored the rate of progress while making the necessary preparations for their imminent departure for Terra. As the commodore had instructed, neither vessel had engaged the Human warship that had boldly (albeit foolishly) chosen to attack their formation shortly after they had opened fire on the Baldev and the Babayev. Both captains did notice, however, that once the Human warship had broken off its attack, it had transitioned to a location just beyond the Keturah. Unsure of the reasons behind this suspicious behavior, both battleships had commenced a high-resolution scan of the area around the damaged BD cruiser. Within seconds, their scans revealed the presence of a small, previously undetected spacecraft that appeared to be preparing for a rendezvous with the Human warship. Additional analysis by Serapion’s AI also revealed an open external access hatch, amidships on the Keturah’s port side.
Both the letter and the spirit of Commodore Sarafi’s orders were intended to prevent the Humans from acquiring valuable intelligence and technology that could be used against the Sajeth Collective. Based on the evidence now in hand, both AIs calculated a high probability that the crew of the small Terran spacecraft had indeed been aboard the Keturah — most likely engaged in precisely the type of operation they had been ordered to prevent. With cold objectivity, the AIs immediately recommended to their respective crews that the small spacecraft be destroyed before it had the opportunity to reach the larger Human warship.
Since Sajeth Collective vessels had never before encountered a Sherpa ASV, the small ship’s capabilities — hyperdrive, weapons, shielding, etc. — were entirely unknown to them. Accordingly, to ensure the small spacecraft’s complete and immediate destruction, and with limited time remaining before it reached the Human destroyer, a total of forty-seven beam emitters targeted the small ship and fired simultaneously. At the same instant, the larger attack on the Keturah itself got underway, as both battleships opened up with all of their remaining energy weapons that had a direct line of sight to the stricken cruiser.
With no shielding whatsoever and only the minimal hull thickness required for all commercial spacecraft, the Sherpa had little hope of escape as the first wave of energy bolts slammed into its aft port quarter. Occurring far too quickly to be seen with the naked eye, the shuttle had first been enveloped in what appeared to be a single stream of coursing, orange-colored energy. Microseconds later, the ship’s hull at the center of each beam’s point of impact reached four thousand kelvins — seventy percent of the average temperature at Sol’s surface — before flash boiling then briefly vaporizing into a cloud of metallic gas.
Once stripped of the scant protection offered by the ship’s thin hull, the internal components and living occupants inside succumbed instantaneously to the massive quantities of energy still streaming in from the two distant battleships. Even the tough armor of the Marines’ EVA suits delayed their demise by only a few additional milliseconds. In the end, none of the shuttle’s passengers even had time to realize that they were under attack as, only a fraction of second after the Zhelov and Serapion had opened fire, the Sherpa simply ceased to exist.
In concert with one another, the AIs aboard each Resistance battleship assessed a better than fifty percent chance that significant intelligence information had already been transmitted from the Human shuttle back to its accompanying warship. After a brief discussion on the merits of pressing their attack, however, both captains determined that their orders would best be accomplished by completing the destruction of the Keturah, then departing the area immediately to join the remainder of their fleet for the attack on Terra.
This decision made, both ships resumed their grim work in earnest, completely ignoring the Human warship nearby. The dark, silent vacuum of space was once again pierced by thousands of energy weapons flashes punctuated by secondary explosions as the two massive battleships continued the process of grinding the once-proud BD cruiser to pieces.
***
Silence also permeated Theseus’ bridge as the crew struggled to come to grips with what had just transpired. They had been tantalizingly close to recovering Rescue 11 — so close in fact that some of the enemy battleships’ final energy weapons bolts intended for the shuttle had been deflected by the destroyer’s shields. As officers in positions requiring them to place others in harm’s way are wont to do, Prescott had begun the process of reexamining the series of decisions and events that had led them to this point well before the Sherpa had been destroyed. There had been less than twenty seconds remaining before the shuttle and its Marines would have reached the relative safety of Theseus’ hangar bay, and it was all too easy to assume that some decision more quickly communicated, some action more efficiently executed, might have made the difference. In spite of this, Prescott felt strangely at peace. As far as he could tell, every decision had been the right one — given the information they had at the time. Every action had been crisply and professionally executed. It simply had not been enough in this case. Now, with only Theseus and the two enemy battleships remaining near Location Dagger, there was nothing left for them to do but depart for their rendezvous with the Hadeon.
“Helm, execute your C-Jump to Location Willow,” Prescott ordered quietly.
“Aye, sir,” Fisher responded in the same hushed, mechanical tone.
Prescott made eye contact with his XO, nodding first in the direction of Lieutenant Lee then towards the aft entrance to the bridge. Reynolds nodded her understanding, then stood and walked the short distance to the Science and Engineering console, placing her hand softly on the young Lieutenant’s shoulder. Lee jumped involuntarily at her touch, clearly not even sensing her approach.
“C-Jumping in 3 … 2 … 1 …” Ensign Fisher announced in the background.
“Come on, Jayston,” Reynolds said, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly as his replacement from the standby crew emerged from the lounge nearby.
Lee drew in a deep breath to steady himself, then stood and turned in the direction of the exit, Commander Reynolds’ left hand resting on his lower back to offer comfort and support as she slowly escorted him off the bridge. As he approached the captain’s command chair, Prescott stood, nodding respectfully at the young lieutenant as he passed. In his peripheral vision, Lee noticed that all of the other officers on the bridge were standing as well. Unsure what, if anything, he should say, he stopped momentarily and turned back to offer the room a weak smile.
“Thank you,” he said, mouthing the words more than actually saying them aloud. As he turned back in the direction of the door, he stopped again and looked back at Captain Prescott. “What they were doing was important, wasn’t it, sir? I mean … it mattered,” he said with tears in his eyes.
“You’re damn right it did,” Prescott replied without hesitation. “And every member of their team did as well: Mario Rojas, Private; Sheila Barks, Private First Class; Vincente Vega, Private First Class; Priya Bakshi, Corporal; Elon Dyer, Corporal; Eduard Kazan, Staff Sergeant; Jackson Lee, First Lieutenant. They all mattered, as did the four Wek survivors they gave their lives trying to save. Your brother knew it better than any of us. He could have easily called it quits and headed back to the ship without making the effort to get them out, but he knew that would have left them almost no chance of rescue. Instead, he made the tough call that put himself and his team at risk because that’s what Marines do … that’s what heroes do.”
“Thank you, sir,” Lee said, nodding gratefully.
“Go and get some rest, Lieutenant. We’ll talk more later.”
As Commander Reynolds followed Lee off the bridge, she looked back at Prescott and nodded respectfully.
“Alright, Ensign Fisher,” Prescott said after the two of them had left the room, “status, please.”
“Transition complete, Captain. All systems in the green. The ship remains at General Quarters for combat ops and ready to C-Jump. C-Jump range 100.6 light years and stable. Sublight engines are online, we are free to maneuver.”
“Very good. We’ve been at General Quarters for quite some time,” he said. “It’s time we started working on getting everyone fed and rested. Tactical?”
“No enemy contacts, sir,” Lieutenant Lau replied. “Range back to Zhelov and Serapion, approximately five light hours. Range to the Hadeon, just over one hundred thousand kilometers. Also, I’m only seeing two niner of the three one remaining fighters that departed Location Dagger just before we did.”
“Understood. I’m sure we’ll hear from them shortly. They’re most likely just rotating more of their ships back to the carriers,” Prescott replied. “AI, set Condition 3. All departments are to maintain general wartime manning and readiness.”
“Securing from General Quarters for combat operations. Condition 3 set,” the AI’s synthetic female voice acknowledged.
“Captain, Commander Waffer is hailing us,” Dubashi announced.
“Put him through, please,” Prescott replied, then paused momentarily to allow the comm channel to be established before continuing. “Go ahead, Commander.”
“Just checking in, sir,” Waffer said. “I also wanted to let you know that Captain Davis aboard the Navajo had us send a two-ship formation back to Location Dagger to observe the departure of the two battleships.”
“I assume they will be remaining in hyperspace then?”
“That’s affirmative, sir. Captain Davis says the AI has pretty much worked out how to determine a ship’s direction of flight when it transitions out of the area.”
“Right, that’s how they found the secondary rally point so quickly,” Prescott responded, swearing silently for not thinking to issue the same order himself.
“Other than that, can you tell me what the plan is from here?” Waffer asked.
“Your guess is as good as mine at the moment. If possible, I’d like you to maintain a full squadron here at Willow until we get a read on what the Flag wants us to do with the Hadeon. Otherwise, continue to rotate your ships back to base as needed.”
“Will do, Captain. Badger 2 out.”
Graca, Dru Tinari - Ancestral Home of the Dynastic House of Naftur
(Twenty-eight years earlier — 494.7 light years from Earth)
“I never said or even implied that I was disappointed in you, my son. And if I were, that would clearly be due to a fundamental lack of vision and sound judgment on my part, not any fault of yours. What I said is that I believe you are making a mistake,” Javir Naftur said. The statement had been delivered with a pleasant smile, but it was clear that his words were heartfelt and of the greatest personal importance. “In my long lifetime, I have never seen a better opportunity for Graca to free itself of this loathsome Collective and declare that we are a free and independent world once more — as is our birthright. This simply will not happen without your leadership.”
Rugali Naftur stood with his back to his father, staring out of the enormous, floor-to-ceiling windows making up the entire outside wall of their home’s “observation room.” Situated atop a series of low hills that were the closest thing this region had to a mountain range, Dru Tinari had been constructed just over one hundred meters above the sweeping plains that stretched to the horizon in every direction. Compared to a similar vista on Earth, Graca’s twenty percent larger planetary diameter provided an even more dramatic view. On a clear day like this one, the horizon was nearly fifty kilometers away, sometimes more when atmospheric conditions were ideal. Rugali had spent countless hours in this room as a child simply watching the wildlife on the plains below — now a part of the expansive Kalek Expanse Conservation Zone. At just over one million square kilometers, the reserve was nearly three times as large as the Kavango-Zambezi Conservation Area in Africa, its closest analog on Earth.
Although his eyes were no longer as keen as they had been during his youth, Rugali still took note of a large herd of Banea, doubtless over a thousand strong, moving slowly off to the south. Taking in a deep breath and pausing to appreciate the view once more, he considered how best to respond in a decisive yet respectful manner. He had, after all, heard all of these arguments many times before, and not just from his father.
Graca was arguably the most prosperous and easily the most powerful member of the Sajeth Collective, and always had been, but it was also the most isolated. Just as it had originally been with Earth, Graca’s relative isolation had provided a degree of protection during the Wek species’ technological development, allowing them to mature and advance with little to no external interference. Unfortunately, well before any star system in the Orion Spur had ever even heard of the Pelaran Alliance, there had still been regional threats that had required their attention. As was often the case, Graca’s prosperity had attracted the greedy attention of two of their slightly more advanced neighbors, shortly after they had acquired the capability to travel between the stars for the first time. And although the Wek people had never been ones to shrink from a fight, when necessary, it had quickly become clear that they simply did not have the resources required to continue their development as an interstellar species while at the same time fighting a perpetual war to maintain their sovereignty.
When first courted for membership in the Sajeth Collective, opponents had argued that Graca’s isolation made such alliances both unnecessary and impractical. After all, their neares
t allies might take years to offer any meaningful assistance, when needed. Ironically, it had been the persistent threat of attack from their two aggressive neighbors that had finally pushed Graca into alignment with the Collective — neighbors that would ultimately join the alliance themselves. The names of these two worlds: Damara and Lesheera.
“You honor me with your confidence,” Rugali said, turning to look his father in the eyes, “but my sense is that the time has not yet arrived when our people are truly ready to stand on their own once more. Indeed, we seem to learn day by day that our galaxy is far more dangerous than we once naively believed. You once believed strongly in the wisdom of sharing the burden of defending our world with others. Why is this no longer the case?”
“Humph,” Javir growled, “I have simply come to understand that what I believed in was an ideal — an unattainable goal wherein worlds of roughly equivalent strength of will, arms, and above all integrity work together to ensure one another’s collective security. While we might have been closer to that ideal early on in our association with the Sajeth Collective, it grows less so with every passing year. Now, it is our fleet that ensures their safety, while Graca’s resources are systematically squandered by faceless Damaran bureaucrats — funneled, without our consent, to our so-called allies with little or no benefit accruing to our own people. I ask you, Rugali, how is the current state of affairs any different than being occupied by a foreign power?”
