Captain Louanna Thorne was the first visitor to arrive. As she stepped through the threshold, she took in the room in one quick pan. "What is this? A war ship, or a pleasure cruiser? My C.I.C. isn’t half this size."
Harper chuckled politely and shook her hand. Her reputation preceded her. Though nothing of the sort showed up in her official records, the rumors amongst U.N.C. officers stated that her uncontrolled tendency to insert sarcasm into every other sentence, had gotten her time in the brig, and even a demotion in her early career. Regardless, she eventually made Captain, and now it was usually only her subordinates that had to deal with her wit. "Welcome, Captain. How was your hike?"
"Depressing. But you know I couldn’t stay in the ship all week. I would get pale." More sarcasm. Harper couldn’t imagine her skin had ever been a shade lighter than dark mocha. Born and raised in the Dominican Republic, Thorne was slender and tall with jet black hair hanging freely to her shoulders. Slight bulges in her uniform gave testimony to why she had never been defeated in a boxing ring, by man or woman.
"Why depressing?"
She was slightly preoccupied with the screens displaying data most people in human civilization wouldn’t dream existed. "The abandoned bio domes are still standing, half reclaimed by nature, and it’s also the only place in the known galaxy where you can see wild sheep anymore."
"Who knows, maybe when we’re done here, the descendants of the original settlers can come back."
Thorne turned completely towards him with a questioning look. Before Harper could address it, Captain Ron Kramer of the U.N.S. Eagle stepped into the room. He was scrawny, but not frail, and wore a scowl that would put a drill sergeant into quick submission. He stalked into the room and looked around before staring Harper down like he was an unruly crewman. Harper attempted to greet him with a handshake, but it was ignored.
"Where is Captain McLeod," Kramer barked.
The polite smile faded from Harper’s face. "Captain McLeod died, defending Rutilicus."
Kramer looked him up and down, suddenly finding him just worthy of evaluation. "And you're his replacement?" The question was dripping with contempt. Harper decided to end the interaction and gestured to the nearest chairs surrounding the large central table.
As Kramer moved reluctantly to his seat, Captain Douglas Baran of the U.N.S. Grayback entered. He was in his mid-50s, Husky with a graying beard and a full head of hair parted to the side. What stuck out about him the most, aside from his advanced age next to the others in the room, and his cheery demeanor next to Kramer, was that he was in his full-dress blacks. It was said that he had maintained that habit since he first made officer, and never wore less before turning in for the night.
Harper again offered his hand in greeting, and Baran graciously accepted, tucking his cap under his left arm. "It’s good to finally meet you in person, Captain Harper," he said with a smile. "I’m sorry to hear about McLeod. He was a good man, and exemplary officer."
"Thank you. Please have a seat and we'll get started." He stood before the three Captains. Unsure of where to begin, he simply jumped in. "I understand that Admiral Cotton gave you little to no information about why you’re here, so I’ll try to be thorough but brief. The information on the screens behind me has been collected from Salaxian computer cores over the past seventy years. A core was also recovered during the recent battle at Rutilicus, and this time we discovered the Salaxian home territory."
Thorne was grinning like a child on Christmas morning. "You mean we're making a counter attack."
"That is exactly what we're doing."
Thorne sat back and crossed her arms with a satisfied grin. Baran looked equally enthusiastic. Kramer however maintained his scowl and scoffed at the idea. "How are we going to attack them? Our ships aren't exactly designed for planetary bombardment."
“We won’t have a specific plan for attack until we see what’s there." Harper tapped the screen with the stellar cartography and it zoomed into the cluster of systems they would be dealing with. "Our first stop is this uninhabited system, just within their territory, sixty light years away."
He turned back towards them and watched them do the math in their heads, followed by a simultaneous look of dread. "Sorry to interrupt," Baran chimed in, "But our ships can’t make a trip like that without stopping."
"I know, which is why Resolution will carry you in her own warp field. And yes, Resolution is pushing it on this trip too, even without having to carry four ships in one field. That’s why my genius chief engineer is, as we speak, making some custom modifications to our warp ports and tying the other two power cores into our warp engine. All nonessential systems will be running on minimal or no power for the duration of the trip. It doesn’t guarantee that nothing will go wrong, but we didn’t join the military because it’s safe."
"So, what are we doing once we get there," Thorne asked, leaning forward attentively.
"We most likely will have to pull out of warp just short of the system. When we do, the Grayback will warp to this system containing a Salaxian base, to run reconnaissance while the rest of us hide out in the first system."
"Hold on just a damn minute," Kramer yelled jumping from his seat. "For all you know, he could come out of warp in the middle of a fleet of a hundred Salaxian dreadnoughts. The Grayback would be space junk in minutes, and it wouldn’t take them long to figure out where we are!"
"Captain Kramer!" Baran was out of his seat as well. “Admiral Cotton made it very clear that Harper is the Commodore of this task force, and you will give him the respect he deserves. Captain Harper, I have confidence in my ship and my crew. We will take the risk, happily."
Harper put his hands up, requesting calm, and the two men took their seats. Thorne looked at both of them and chuckled. "Thank you, Baran. However, aside from the malice, I agree with Kramer. I can’t send you alone."
"But no other ship would be able to follow without being seen," Baran said.
"Perhaps we can equip an escort with your same stealth capability. I assume you carry extra vantablack coating to cover repairs," Harper inquired.
"Yeah, but not enough to cover a battleship. Much less Resolution."
"How about two Blackbird fighters."
Baran’s eyes widened, and he seemed to think for a moment. "I think we should have enough for that."
"Good. Have it transferred over before we leave. During the trip out, we’ll coat the fighters and modify them to run on low-power." Harper made a quick note on his data pad." During the recon, remote transfer the data to both fighters. If things get hairy before you’re done, one of the fighters can warp back and report in."
"Sounds like a plan to me," Thorne shouted. "Let’s kick some Salaxian ass."
"Let’s,” Harper replied with a smile. Baran smiled too, and Kramer maintained his less than sunny disposition. "I’ll transfer all of the ancillary data on the Salaxians before we leave. If there are no questions, you can return your ships."
The three Captains stood up and started for the hatch. Kramer stomped out without giving Harper a second glance. Baran shook his hand again, "Good job. Admiral Cotton made an excellent choice." He casually sauntered off as Thorne took his place.
This time, her grip was stronger than he anticipated, but he did his best to mask his reaction. "Not bad for newbie. See you on the other side." As the room emptied, Harper turned back to the screens. He focused specifically on the image of the generic Salaxian male from the medical files. Not bad, he thought. We’re coming for you.
Chapter 8
Forgiveness
June 28th 2213
1825
Redacted
Harper stared down at his meal in silence. Across the table, barely visible in the dim light of the Captain’s mess, Parker was already digging into her MRE. When she had started, he shot her a dirty look across the table. She returned it, shrugged, and continued stuffing her face. It seemed strange enough having a semi-formal meal of MREs, without adding the rudeness of
starting before the guest arrived. Harper wasn't going to push the issue, in sympathy for the stress Parker had already endured on this mission.
There was a sudden shudder in the ship. Those had started four days before, and the first few times it happened, Harper grew concerned. Stepping into the engineering section, he was quickly ushered out by a sweating and grease covered Miles. "It’s fine, Captain. The turbulence is nothing to worry about," she had said before slamming the hatch in his face. She had quickly opened it again before she added, "Couldn’t hurt to turn off the refrigeration units though."
That was where his sympathy for Parker came in. After Miles, Parker had the hardest job during the seemingly never-ending warp jump. Morale was already low, between the monotony, rationed showers, ban on electronic entertainment, dim lighting, and skyrocketing temperatures.
She was already dealing with crew member disputes before the food refrigeration units were shut down. When they were forced to turn them off, increased temperature made cooked meals a non-option, quickly.
It only took one day after the food was turned into compost, before Parker ordered the mess hall off-limits. 50 hot, sweaty, and hungry crewmembers in one place at the same time created more problems than she saw need to deal with. Especially since MREs could be eaten in their quarters.
There was another violent shake, worse than the last. The U.N.S. Eagle, bobbing in the turbulence to Resolution's starboard side, caught his attention. He laughed. "I wonder how much more of that Kramer will take before he cuts his losses and starts shooting at us."
Parker made a brief sound of acknowledgment and continued to eat. He looked towards the hatch that led to the corridor. "You did tell him to come, right?" she nodded in response. "Wonder what’s taking him so long."
She stopped eating and stared at him as if deeply considering the question. Then, with a mouthful of food, she replied, "Maybe he’s afraid you’re going to hit him back."
They stared at each other in complete silence for a moment, then broke out into uncontrollable laughter. It went on uninterrupted till the hatch opened, and Glenn stepped in. Harper tried to catch his breath and greeted him. "Come on in, Major. Take a seat." Glenn grabbed the MRE bag from in front of the chair nearest the door, and ripped it open before sitting down. Steam poured from the bag is it self-heated.
"So, what took so long,” Harper asked, as he did the same with his own MRE.
"Just checking on the modifications to my fighter," he replied. "Thank you, by the way, for letting me go on this mission."
"That was Commander Parker’s decision, but I think she chose well," Harper corrected.
Glenn stared slack-jawed at him for a moment. "I have to be honest with you, Captain, I'm surprised to hear you say that. Especially with all the trouble we've had."
Harper stared at his MRE bag and took another bite while he chose his words. "Part of the reason I invited you here was because I feel I owe you an apology for that. Seeing as the risk you took is the only reason we're on our way to Salaxian space. For some time now, I’ve been a stickler for procedure and the chain of command. But the reality is; I have to accept that sometimes you are going to have to make decisions in the field. I have to give you that latitude."
"Well, thank you, Captain. And, for what it’s worth, sorry for trying to break your jaw."
Harper chuckled and went back to eating. "Don’t tell anyone I said it, but I can’t in good conscience say I didn’t deserve that one."
Glenn smiled at him. "My lips are sealed." They ate in silence for several minutes before Glenn spoke again. "Captain, permission to speak freely?"
"Granted."
“I've seen your service record from when you were a pilot. I’ve even met some pilots that flew with you."
"Yes, what about it?"
"Well, by all accounts, back then you were a lot like me. Bending the rules, liberally interpreting orders. Whatever it took to get the job done."
"That’s true. They weren’t lying to you. My call sign back then was Badstar."
"Badstar. What does that mean?"
"Bad star is essentially what our ancient ancestors called comets. When they depended on the consistent nature of the stars for survival, they were generally seen as bad omens, foretelling famine or drought or the fall of the regime. Bad star is where the word disaster comes from. So, they called me Badstar, because I didn’t fit easily into anyone’s definition of order, and I was a bad omen for our enemies."
"Well, thanks for the interesting history lesson."
Harper looked at him for a moment and furrowed his brow. "I assumed you wanted to ask a question, not just remind me of my younger rowdy days."
“I guess I was just curious about what changed. Why did the comet get lost in the sun?"
"Your analogy actually explains it pretty well. I made a field decision, bent some rules, and I couldn’t live with the consequences. Flew too close to the sun, and burned up."
Harper glanced at him again. Glenn was leaning forward and clearly waiting on more information. Harper looked across at Parker who was staring back anxiously, her meal forgotten on the table.
He sighed and pushed his own meal away. "Glenn, have you ever heard of the time a band of pirates attacked a freighter convoy just outside the Sol system?"
"I vaguely remember it. Never heard the details though."
Harper stared out the viewport, and his vision blurred as images from that day came back to him. "They were well organized. At least sixty small craft, armed to the teeth, and armored too. A little more than a group of fifty fighters should have taken on themselves, but we were the nearest by at least a day. I received a commendation for that battle. As far as the brass was concerned, I did a better job than anyone could have expected, but I could never get it out of my head that a hundred people died because I broke protocol."
Chapter 9
Bad Star
November 27th 2209
1300
Sol System
Major Harper leaned forward, sweat dripping down his forehead and eyes focused tightly on his target. He could almost sense the eyes of his wing man, Captain Parker, watching his every move. If he missed this shot, she would have the only chance of saving them.
His hand began to shake, and he took a deep breath to steady it. All right, he thought to himself, just do it. You've delayed too much already. Just as he moved his hand to strike, someone coughed loudly. His left hand slipped, causing his head to swing forward and slam into the green felt, which in turn lifted his feet off the ground, and he landed gently sprawled on the table.
The cue ball went careening off the table, and bounced off the wall, before the noisy opponent caught it in a graceful, low gravity jump. "You cheating son of a bitch," Harper yelled as he carefully crawled off the table.
"That’s for playing the eight ball off my head last week, asshole," Lieutenant Sherman Craft replied.
"That’s Major Asshole to you, Lieutenant." They all shared a laugh. "Besides, when we made this game, no one called foreheads out of play." The game was low gravity billiards. Essentially the same as the Earth classic, but the artificial gravity was turned down to .16 Gs, and high-strength adhesive tape, stolen from the base’s repair shop, backed the baskets from table to ceiling, allowing airborne scores. "That does not count as a win. We're starting over," Harper added as he started pulling billiard balls from the tape.
"So, who all is considering transferring to the Navy," Parker asked playfully.
“Why in the hell would we do that," Craft asked.
"You didn’t hear? They're drawing up plans for the fleet’s first fighter carrier. I think they said it’s going to be called Resolution."
"The question still stands," Harper replied, unimpressed. "Why would we want to give up this gig, to be told what to do by some Navy blowhard?"
“They’re going to need a fighter pilot to command the squadron. No one in the Navy is going to have the experience needed," Parker replied.
"I
’m perfectly happy where I am," Harper explained, dismissing her with a wave.
A series of klaxons rang out over the intercom, followed by an urgent voice. "All pilots to their fighters. Scramble, scramble, scramble,"
Without a moment’s hesitation, all four pilots rushed out of the room towards the hanger bay. As Harper approached his fighter, a deckhand handed him his flight helmet, which he quickly secured on his head as he climbed the ladder to his cockpit. The canopy sealed and Harper could hear the cockpit pressurize as the fighter slipped forward into the launch tube.
A light to his starboard side flicked from red to green, indicating the tube was depressurized and the blast shield was up. He flipped the engine ignition switch and slammed the throttle lever forward. His fighter raced down the tube and out into open space, and as more fighters left their defense base, they joined him in formation, awaiting orders.
Parker pulled alongside him. "Badstar, this is Rivet. Why do you think they had us scramble? Seems quiet out here."
"Something tells me this is a long-distance mission. Better have your warp engine warmed up," he replied.
The same voice from the intercom suddenly cut in. "All fighters, all fighters, now hear this. A caravan of freighters is stopped outside the Sol system with warp engine problems. They have since been ambushed by pirates. Engage until all targets are destroyed, or retreating. Coordinates are uploaded. Good hunting!"
Harper pushed his warp engine power to full. "All fighters, prepare for maximum warp, on my mark. Three...two..."
For most fighters, solitary warp jumps were unnerving. Cramped in a small cockpit, with no view of your fellow pilots, it got lonely and claustrophobic quickly. This wasn’t a problem for Harper. The experience of warp euphoria put him in an almost meditative state, and he got the distinct impression that his performance was always better after warp jumps.
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