by Andrew Beery
Battleborn #2 (v2)
Copyright 2019 by Andrew Beery
Prequel to Battleborn #2
Note to reader: Prequel to Battleborn 2 takes place 547 years before the actual Battleborn Saga. Many of the characters and events will be familiar if you have read my Boneyard Dog series. Prequel to Battleborn 2 takes place in the same universe. It sets the stage for Battleborn and builds a bit of the backstory.
My name is Admiral Jeremy Riker. My friends call me JD. Forty years ago, my crew and passengers fled the Sol system on board a massive colony ship called the UES Diaspora. Our home world, Earth, was under attack by a relentless foe that seemed hell-bent on our destruction as a race.
I fear we may be all that is left of humanity. For that reason, I decided to establish three separate colonies, hundreds of thousands of light years apart. The first was established nineteen years ago, on a planet named Nova Terra. The second sits below on the planet we are currently orbiting. A world called Paradise. As it turns out, it was anything but.
Chapter 1: Paradise
“Mister Miller give me some good news,” I prompted cheerfully.
The young Lieutenant paused to scan his board again.
“The planet is definitely Class-M. Oxygen-nitrogen atmosphere, along with trace amounts of other gases like CO2, methane and sulfur dioxide . . . none of the trace gases are at high-enough concentrations to be a concern. It’s a little richer oxygen mix than Earth normal at 21%, but that should put just a little extra spring in our step.
“As for landmasses, there are three main continents and a handful of archipelagos, totaling 30% of the overall surface area.
“The orbital period around the primary is four hundred twenty-one days. The day-night cycle is just about twenty-two hours, give or take a few minutes. The gravity is zero point nine eight Earth normal . . . again, should add a little more spring to one’s step.”
“What are the temperatures like?” I asked.
“Well, the poles are pretty cold; as you might expect. The lower latitudes vary depending on the season. The planet’s tilt is roughly the same as Earth’s. Median temperatures at the equator seem to be about eighteen to twenty-four degrees Celsius. Should be quite comfy. I wouldn’t mind spending some quality time on a nice warm beach by the water. We should call the place Paradise.”
“I’ll take the name under advisement, Lieutenant,” I said, with a grin. “Meanwhile, it sounds like a good candidate to explore,” I added.
I watched the blue-green world spin in our forward view screen as the Diaspora continued to settle into her survey orbit. It did indeed appear to be a paradise.
I stretched in my chair. There was a kink in my neck that wouldn’t go away. My wife, Lori, the ship’s chief medical officer, said I needed to get more exercise. I wasn’t sure if that was the wife or the doctor speaking. I suspect if I asked, she’d just say both.
“Let the away team know that they have a ‘go’ on the recon mission, Commander,” I said to my First Officer, Commander Tanny Mumba.
“Very good, sir,” she answered, from her command and support station. Her highly reconfigurable CSS was currently setup to function as a sensor station. I could see she was distracted by something she was seeing on her console.
I stood up and walked over to her, bending slightly, so I could get a better view of her screen.
“Problems, Commander?”
“I’m not sure, Admiral. There appears to be a number of objects in a similar solar orbit to the planet, but outside of the solar elliptic. They seemed to be oddly grouped.”
“Do they pose a danger to the planet?”
“I’m not sure. They come within a tenth of an astronomical unit every two hundred and ten days.”
“So, basically, twice each local year,” I said, as much to myself as to the Commander.
Tanny swiveled her seat to more easily look at me.
“Admiral, with your permission I’d like to lead a team to fly over and investigate these objects.”
“Permission granted. Notify Commander Ellison that he has the bridge and let Major Thorn know that I will be joining the away team.”
***
Tanny had not been thrilled at the prospect of me going on the away mission. Some such nonsense about putting an Admiral at unnecessary risk. That was, of course, the advantage of being the admiral. I always got the last say . . . with the notable exception of my wife.
Rank rarely makes a difference when it comes to a good, well-functioning marriage. Women were in charge, and the sooner the menfolk picked up on that reality, the better it was for everybody. Tanny had intimated that she would loop my wife in on the discussion. From my point of view, that was playing dirty. No matter though, I had anticipated the objection and had developed a strategy to counter it.
The shuttle ride to the surface was pleasant enough. We used my Admiral’s Launch, the UES Defiant. For this trip, she was flying with a minimal crew of eight. Calling the Defiant a launch was perhaps a bit of a misnomer. She was bigger, and more capable, than many of humanity’s pre-Skip ships of the line . . . except for those behemoth Indian Shaktishaalee-Bal class beasts, of course. Those things could almost give my doppelganger’s ship, the Gilboa, a run for its money, size-wise.
I had an ulterior motive in wanting to use the Defiant, rather than a standard survey shuttle, for the away mission. The Defiant had a top of the line Sickbay. If you have a Sickbay, it only made sense to have a doctor. As my wife was the chief medical officer on the Diaspora, it fell to her to assign a physician. As expected, hers was one of the first smiling faces I encountered as I entered through the forward airlock. I love it when a plan comes together.
To expand on my earlier statements, the Defiant could function as a fully equipped remote command post. It had meeting rooms, a medical bay, scientific laboratories, a mess hall and even a small workout area that could double as a holographic theatre. The ship could easily accommodate a crew and passenger roster of forty people.
I had learned a lesson very early on in my command of the Diaspora. It didn’t matter how big the ship was . . . it was still a ship. This was a problem for us hairless apes. Homo sapiens had evolved in an environment that allowed them to stub their toes on the exposed roots of trees and get wet when the rains fell. Ships, by and large, missed these and other amenities supplied by nature.
When your whole life was defined by the walls of a single vessel, you did everything you could to find a way to get outside of those walls . . . even for just a few days. That, more than anything else, explained why I had several ships, like the Defiant, built over the course of the many years we had been scouting new homes for humanity.
The spacious, and well-appointed, Defiant, Denmark, Apollo and Artemis were each created to allow the crew and passengers of the Diaspora a chance to get out and stretch their legs a bit . . . albeit metaphorically, as the vacuum of interstellar space was notoriously devoid of ground to walk on.
The Apollo had been left with the members of Colony One on Nova Terra. The remaining three ships were attached to their own dedicated docking ports on the Diaspora. A fourth docking port was occupied by the roughed-in skeleton of the Solomon. When completed, this newest ship would be bigger, and more specialized, than her sisters. She was intended to be a ship of exploration. Unfortunately, the material resources needed to complete her were hard to come by in interstellar space.
This was one of the reasons I was eager to have Tanny check out her eccentric rocks. If their orbits brought them close to Paradise every six months or so, they would be ideal candidates for mining and establishing the new colony, as well as providing raw materials for our new exploration vessel.
“It’s about to get a little bumpy folks,” the pilot announced.
Announcing . . . It’s about to get a little bumpy . . . was something of a head scratcher . . . until I remembered Major Thorn’s twin brother was the pilot today. In point of fact, Jerry was one of the best pilots we had. The thing was, the better the pilot, the more likely they would have a bit of a maverick streak in them.
If I were a suspicious man, and let’s be honest, I was . . . I would suspect Major Tom Thorn was currently the victim of Lieutenant Commander Jerry Thorn’s evil machinations. If I were a suspicious man, and again, I was . . . I would suspect the gravity field in the troop compartment was undergoing some wild gyrations at the moment. It seemed Tom and Jerry were always playing cat and mouse with each other.
It’s about to get a little bumpy was one twin’s way of telling the other that he was about to be messed with, and to enjoy the ride.
For as long as I could remember, the twins had made a sport of making life miserable for each other . . . in a loving and Christian way . . . if that’s a thing. It was generally fun to watch, so long as you weren’t unfortunate enough to be caught in the middle of their shenanigans.
The deal was . . . I needed my away team alert and on their game. Reconnoitering a world can be a dangerous business. This meant I was going to have to put a stop to the twin’s antics.
I tapped the comms button on my sleeve.
“Commander Thorn . . . might I suggest leaving your brother and his men alone until we get back to the Diaspora. I’d hate to see them miss something dangerous on the planet’s surface because they were too busy plotting revenge for a bumpy ride.”
“Errr . . . roger that, Admiral,” the pilot said, in a sheepish voice. “Putting Operation Shake and Bake on indefinite hold. I’ll restore the A/C in the rear compartments, too.”
I shook my head and half smiled. I hadn’t realized he had been messing with the environmental controls as well. Brotherly love was a wondrous thing.
We landed about twenty minutes later. The team had chosen a site that included a flat grassland, bordered by a river on one side, ocean on another and a forested mountain range on the third.
As the Defiant touched down, I stood up to stretch my legs but otherwise made no move for the corridor that would lead to one of the exits. I knew the Major would never let me exit until a preliminary survey had been done.
Instead, I called Lori, who had left for the Sickbay a little earlier. I let her know that I was heading to the observation deck and asked if she would like to join me for a cup of coffee.
“I’m on my way,” she answered. “Just let me get Sergeant Gerhart squared away and I’ll join you.”
I could hear a touch of irritation in her voice.
“Problems?”
“Nothing that an injection of No-quease can’t handle.”
It seemed I hadn’t put an end to the twin’s fun and games soon enough.
I had just poured both cups of coffee when my wife joined me on the observation deck. The view was intoxicating. To be honest, the planet was pretty spectacular too.
Lori and I sipped our coffees by the curved, wall-length, nanite-infused transparent aluminum window. The nanites served to strengthen the sapphire glass while, at the same time, adjusting the index of refraction. Translation: it made the glass so clear it was easy to forget it was there. In this case, the result was breathtaking.
Paradise was a beautiful world. Judging from the contented sigh my lovely wife shared as she looked out the window with me, it was obvious she concurred with my assessment.
Lush, verdant foliage hugged the ground and raced up the side of a nearby hill where it ran into a line of strange but alluring trees. The wind gently brushed the tops of those trees. Looking the other way, I could see turquoise waves lapping a black sand beach.
The Major’s men, wearing Marine Encounter Suits, were scouting a parameter that extended out about a hundred meters from the Defiant. Following close behind them were a handful of specialists, also wearing encounter suits. These last were armed with various scanners and instruments to measure air quality for contaminants like the local equivalent of pollen, spores, mold, airborne pathogens and the like.
Lori and I watched as the team took plant and soil samples. These would eventually make their way into the various labs on the Defiant.
Sometime, during the course of watching the survey teams work, my hand made its way to Lori’s. Decades after I had proposed to this woman, I was still madly in love with her. There was nothing like looking at an untouched, virgin world, with the woman you loved, to remind you of the best things in life.
Sadly, that memory would become bittersweet all too soon.
2100.1985.0617 Galactic Normalized Time
Commander Tanny Mumba was not a person to put much stock in gut feelings. She was a by-the-book, show-me-then-I’ll-believe-it type of gal. Despite that, her gut was telling her something was wrong, and she was having a hard time ignoring it.
The Artemis was doing about 30% the speed of light. She could go faster but there was no need to push the sub-light engines. Chief Kelson, Artemis’ engineer, wouldn’t thank her for putting excess wear and tear on the runabout without a good reason.
The closer to the strange formation of objects they got, the deeper the sense of unease the Commander felt in her gut.
Chapter 2: Questions
“All clear, Admiral,” Major Thorn reported, about thirty-five minutes into their survey. “If you and the good doctor want to suit up and join us; I think it should be safe to do so.”
“Thanks, Tom,” I responded, as Lori and I made our way to the port egress.
The smell of Paradise was distinctly botanical, and the light breeze carried a hint of ocean saltwater. The only thing missing was the sound of seagulls.
Lori made her way to the science team. I headed over to the Major.
He was on one knee looking at a piece of volcanic rock that he had picked up. Rocks, of varying sizes, were scattered throughout the immediate area. I suppose that was why the beach was composed of beautiful black sand. It reminded me of the Big Island’s Punaluu Black Sand Beach in Hawaii, on Earth.
“Pretty rock, Major.”
“Obsidian, yes, sir.”
“Did you recently take up volcanology as a hobby and I missed the memo?”
Major Tom, as he liked to be called, chuckled.
“Not exactly, Admiral. The boffins seem to think there is too much of this stuff around. I’m just curious as to why. If this world is subject to an excessive volcanic activity it may not be a good candidate for colonization.”
“A valid concern,” I agreed. “I think there is more to that frown on your forehead than the number of ‘obsidian’ rocks lying about.”
Tom stood up.
“If this world has that many active volcanos, you’d expect to see more particulates in the air, as well as sulfur and the like. None of those things are present, according to the geek squad. It’s a mystery, and I don’t like mysteries. Not when it come to the safety of our people.”
I clapped a hand on his shoulder as I turned towards the shore.
“I don’t know, old friend. Sometimes there’s nothing like a good mystery to keep the mind young.”
In hindsight, I wished I had paid more attention to the Major’s concerns. It would be several days before I would figure that out. Meanwhile, I continued to explore the area the Major’s team had flagged as moderately safe. In this case, safe meant there was no sign of imminent threat.
A few minutes later, Lori joined me, and we walked towards the beach. Major Tom must have seen us because two of his marines joined us as escorts. So much
for private and romantic time with my wife. It wasn’t as if we were going to walk barefoot through the black sand together as the waves lapped at our feet . . . although, I have to admit, it was tempting.
“I wonder what creatures swim through that ocean?” Lori mused.
I had been thinking the same thing, so I gripped her hand just a little tighter by way of acknowledgement.
“Hopefully, someday soon, humans will be among them,” I added.
“Hopefully.”
We were silent for a few minutes more . . . just soaking in the serenity.
“Admiral,” Doctor Torbin called. Torbin was one of our astrogeologists.
On a geek scale of one to ten, he was about an eleven. His quarters onboard the Diaspora looked like a laboratory. He had even had the Engineering department add a vented hood and autoclave to the room. In fairness, I couldn’t fault him for having custom equipment to his living abode. Even I had done that, but in my case, the equipment took the form of a popcorn machine.
I walked over to where he was excitedly scanning rock after rock. He had the ones he had scanned divided into two piles. A very small one and a very large one.
“What’s the excitement, Gerry?”
“These rocks!”
I looked at the piece of vulcanized glass that he held. It looked just like every other piece of obsidian lying around.
“The Major already filled me in. Something about the age of these rocks and the number of particulates in the atmosphere not being consistent with one another.”
“Yes, yes, Admiral,” the scientist said dismissively. “This is much more important. Some of these rocks are radioactive!”
Now my ears perked up. This discovery might seriously jeopardize the viability of Paradise for human colonization.
“By radioactive, what are we talking about? Forget ever having kids radioactive, or something we can live with?”
“Oh, nothing serious. It’s barely detectable with our equipment. The thing is, Admiral, it shouldn’t be there at all. It’s Hoffmyer-Kilcov radiation.