by Will Crudge
I only wish we’d known about it ten years ago… We may have had a chance to run down that pocket frigate and get Trixie back. But who am I kidding? That ship had FTL and robust shields. It could have safely made the transition into slip space before it got close to the edge of the system. We would have never caught it anyway.
Marbles is steadfast. He constantly scans the cosmos for beacons or energy signatures. He puts most of his meager resources into scanning for ion trails. Ship exhaust is a clear indicator of an active shipping lane. But our scanners on this little bucket are a relatively short range. Larger sensor arrays add unwanted mass to a racing vessel and aren’t all that critical. Most sanctioned races are held through heavily populated sections of space, and the need for long-range scanning for an endurance racer is nearly nil. But legally, every spacefaring vessel has to have a sensor array for safety. Otherwise, we may not have one at all.
The wreckage of the Nova didn’t have much we could have fabricated a larger array from, and even if we scrounged for spare parts, the little donkey would’ve been too small for anything practical to have been implemented. Here we are… Flying blind on a rocket cycle! I’m pretty sure that’s a Flash Gordon reference, but I don’t know for sure.
Days turn into weeks, and even though Marbles’ predictive analysis is normally spot on, the likelihood that we’ll be on the good side of that fifty-six percent is getting slim.
“Holy mother of fuckivity!” Marbles breaks a long stretch of silence.
“What is it?” I ask frantically.
“We’re being hailed!” He shouts excitedly.
“Well put them on!” I say as if he were a dunce.
He hits a switch, and the speakers erupt with sound for the first time. In fact, I didn’t know we even had audio coms. Legally, as long as our IDENT codes are squawking, and we’re not going through any hyper gate stations, they wouldn’t be required.
“How in the hell did they know we needed help?” I ask Marbles.
“Because I’ve been broadcasting a distress signal through the transponder for weeks now. Why else, slut-whore?” He replies. I honestly had no idea. He always surprises me with his ability to handle every aspect of a situation, while acting like a catastrophic idiot the whole time.
“You did good, prison-rape-victim!” I say with a smile. He replies with a thumbs up. I reach down for my sword and insert a power pack in the hilt. I then pull out my ballistic pistol from my holster and perform a quick functions check.
“Expecting trouble, are we?” Marbles says. I just shrug.
“Maybe they’re following Space and Maritime law, or maybe they’re pirates. Either way, I’m always ready for a fight.”
“Good. Because I didn’t leave that rock to be someone’s toaster oven!” He chuckles.
“How can we tell if they’re legit or not?” I ask. Marbles hits a few switches, and a virtual HUD appears in front of me. Nifty. I had no idea we had one.
The HUD displayed the IDENT code of the freighter.
[IDENT: UAHC Commercially Registered Freighter, Catalonia]
“Well, at least the IDENT code is being transmitted. How does that lower the risk level?” I ask.
“Because I pinged it with Trixie’s tokens, and it replied with decrypted registration codes. If it’s a fake, then it’s a pretty convincing one. If a transponder gets forcibly removed from a legit UAHC registered vessel, then the sub-coding gets garbled automatically. It’s a pirate detection trick the Fleet Forces use. Even most pirates don’t know about it.” He says.
“A lot can happen in thirty years, vacuum-humper!” I jibe. It’s true though. Marbles is going off thirty-year-old archived data. A lot can happen in three decades.
“Oh, it could be an elaborate hack, or it could be legit. No way to know until we get into visual range. If everything seems kosher, then we can make the call at that point. Or even just request to follow their planned route, and reserve the right to out-run them if they try anything shady.”
“That’s a good idea too,” I say, and it is. “But still, we can make that call when we get into visual range like you said. Even if they try chasing us with Mark-4 fighters, they’d have to match vectors with us first, and by then this little space donkey can outrun them.”
“That’s true. This little fucker may not be able to out accelerate a Mark-4, but it has higher top speed. We should be able to stay out of weapons range until we disappear.”
TRUST
It appears that the freighter is legit, after all. We watch it come into visual range, and it looks light a classic UAHC style commercial freighter. Or at least from the example images Marbles showed me. Prior to my induction into the training temple, I had very little experience with space flight. My father knew what he needed to, in regards spacefaring, but never cared for it. If he had it his way, he’d find a planetary body to settle on and stay there for eternity.
The freighter hails us again, and we talk through the approach. I hand over the controls to Marbles, and he guides us in. As the freighter grows larger in my field of view, I take it all in. It’s hard to say how much of it is a ship, and how much of it is just stacks of shipping containers. The entire vessel is a short rectangle in shape, but there’s no visible hull. Thousands of different colored shipping containers make up its bulk. There’s an occasional latticework of structures that boast support struts that somehow secure the stacks of containers together. It looks like a bread-loaf-shaped object made up of a dozen different colored bricks. Each brick is actually a container. We can’t see the thruster array from our vantage, but the soft glow of a corona from behind the aft-section lets us know it has one. A big one, I’m betting.
There’s only one slither of the hull that forms a uniform shape at the base of the containers. It blends into the overall shape of the giant rectangle, but it has the same dull-gold hue that the lattice and support struts have. In the center, in relation between fore and aft, is a small cargo door. It begins to open as we approach, and we can see the interior lighting of the docking bay. Tiny specs appear to move along the deck of the ship’s interior, and I can only assume they are crew members.
I grip the handle of my sword as the specs grow bigger. I strain to try and discern whether they’re wearing work clothing or powered armor.
“They’re wearing safety vests and hard hats, cock-gobbler.” Marbles says, “Relax. I’m scanning for common frequencies used in energy weapons. Once we get in there and match pressurization, I can do a passive scan for signatures of ballistic propellant as well.”
“You can do that?” I ask incredulously.
“Of course I can!” He fires back. “I’m an infantry drone, not a cargo loader!”
“Yeah, I guess. Sometimes I forget you were built for war.” I say passively. I turn my eyes back to the every growing view of the inside of the dock. We pass through the magnetic energy field that protects the bay from venting atmosphere. The bay is brightly lit. The smooth deck plating is a stark contrast to the utilitarian layout of the bulkheads. Exposed ribs and support beams line the interior. Small shuttlecraft and a small armada of loading bots lay nestled in designated berths. At least two dozen workers just stand there and gawk at the space donkey, as it hovers into the bay.
One worker directs Marbles with glowing directional wands, and he points us to a spot to touch down. Marbles complies and lowers the landing struts.
I feel a firm thump as he sets down all three struts at the same time. I don’t think even the most experienced human pilots could have landed so smoothly.
The air in the cockpit hisses and wines as we try to match the air pressure of the freighter. Finally a green light flashes, and I lift the canopy up and over my head. I lock it into its upright position, and then we both begin to unstrap.
By the time we begin to climb out, we have an audience. I hear gasps and whispers. I can’t even imagine what the workers think about a blonde chick with a steampunk looking robot climbing out of a small race craft.
“Are you alright?” A man’s voice calls out. I look to see a man walking towards us briskly. He’s wearing a hard hat and orange vest like the rest of the crew, but his distinct lack of facial hair and prominent jawline sets him apart from the rest. I’m guessing he’s some kind of white-collar fella.
“Just fine, thank you!” I say. The man stops dead in his tracks, and I see a dozen gaping mouths around me. They’re shocked at something. That something is Marbles coming around the nose of the space donkey and walking up next to me.
I look at Marbles, then turn my head back towards the man who spoke. “Don’t be alarmed. He’s with me. It’s alright.” I say it as if they’re supposed to put their trust in a woman wearing military grade sub armor and carrying a gigantic samurai sword.
“I’m – I’m sorry, I guess I’m just a little confused.” He says, then he scans the faces of the other workers. He looks back at me. “Your robot looks like a Crimson Alliance infantry drone.”
“Oh, him! Nah!” I feebly try to play it off. “He’s my – assistant.”
The man tilts his head and partially purses his lips. “This is an unarmed vessel! We don’t want any trouble!” He says with fear cracking in his voice.
“I don’t want any either! Believe me!” I say, “You’re the first human beings I’ve seen in years. I’ve been marooned on a planet for quite some time.”
“With an infantry drone?” He asks as if I’m stupid.
“Yes…. Err No!” I stumble on my words. I close my eyes, take a quick pause, and then continue. “Look, Marbles here is pieced together from spare parts that were captured in an engagement. I was a refugee aboard a UAHC frigate, and we were shot down by pirates.” I say. I’m careful to be truthful, but not too forthcoming. I’m still not convinced they’re on the up and up.
The man doesn’t appear to be convinced. He rubs his chin as he squints at me. A few moments of awkward silence pass, as he seems to be assessing the situation.
“Very well. If you’re willing to sign your weapons over to our security chief, we’ll provide you with passage to our first stop.” He says. I’m not exactly happy about it. War Masters aren’t legally bound to give up their swords within any star system that recognizes the Guild. But I decided not to press my luck. I’m only a candidate, so I have no clue if the rules apply to me or not.
“Agreed,” I say with as honest a smile as I can muster. I turn to Marbles. “Marbles, will you please stand by the donkey, and layout our weapons? That way the security personnel can account for all of them.” He nods in response.
“Thank you.” I hear the boss-man-beard-guy say. I meet his gaze and nod.
“I am Katherine, by the way. I am a War Master Candidate.” I say. Every jaw in the bay drops. I can hear whispers and gasps. I’m honestly surprised nobody decided to challenge my statement. War Masters have been under the radar for two centuries, and most of the civilized systems don’t even know we still exist. I take note of how strange it is that nobody tries to challenge it.
“I’m First Officer Davidson. Please call me Michael.” He says with a smile. Suddenly his entire temperament changed. He went from being defensive to being star struck.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Michael!” I say cordially. We shake hands.
“Please disregard my insistence in turning over your weapons. I had no idea you were with the Guild.” Michael says.
“Thank you,” I say. “I suppose you have had some first-hand experience with the Guild, or else you would have called me out for being insane.”
“You said that you were marooned, right?” He asks.
“Yes.”
“Then you must not have heard the news… We are at war.”
DRINKING FROM THE FIREHOSE
Michael explains everything while we sit down for a hot meal. My first taste of food that wasn’t prepared by a sadistic XT-80 in over thirty years. I do my best to listen intently as I chomp.
He explains how the Crimson Alliance had been conspiring to bring down the UAHC in a single pitched battle. The Crimson had devoted vast resources towards decades of infiltration, espionage, and trying to corrupt AI’s. I’m sure there’s a lot he doesn’t know since he’s a civilian. He can only recount what’s been made public.
The Crimson Alliance had been plotting revenge for two centuries. That much wasn’t new news. It was inevitable. The trade restrictions that were placed on them when they lost the last war had merely sown the seeds for the next one. A once peaceful and benevolent confederation of distant planetary colonies, the Alliance had evolved into a totalitarian conclave.
They had minimal access to the latest tech and were financially stretched thin. The Alliance had a slick propaganda engine and convinced generations of their people that AI’s and nanotech were not to be trusted. The people believed every word. The truth was that the Alliance didn’t have the resources to deploy them in any major capacity. Their military solution was quantity over quality.
The Crimson Fleet was inferior in technology, as compared to the UAHC, Unum, or any of their inner stars counterparts. What they do have is numbers. Theoretically, the Crimson Alliance could field a force that would outnumber the combined military might of every other human civilization by at least three to one. This resulted in a two-century-long stalemate of sorts.
But Michael tells me the more disturbing details. Some were confirmed by the media, and others are outlandish conspiracies and rumors. I’ve always been told that nearly every rumor has some basis in fact, so I listen intently.
He tells me of how all the most prominent hyper gate stations in the inner stars were infiltrated by Crimson agents. The process took decades to achieve, but they pulled it off with cunning efficiency.
He also explained how some rumors of alien involvement in the subterfuge, may have actually been confirmed. The existence of non-human life was always well-known, but encounters were so infrequent, that it was never anything anybody ever worried about. Until now.
The Crimson Alliance pulled the trigger on their master plan and invaded the birthplace of humanity. The Alliance sent an entire fleet into the Sol system by hijacking the hyper gate stations and flying right into the heart of UAHC controlled space. The UAHC civilian government was so preoccupied with protecting their powerful economy that the UAHC Fleet was deployed to the outskirts of allied space in order to protect shipping lanes from piracy. The piracy, as it turned out, was bolstered and supported by the Alliance for that exact purpose.
Even the UAHC’s Fleet Marshall was in the Crimson Alliance’s pocket. There was even a skirmish to remove him from power when a new Fleet Marshall was appointed. But the damage was done. The subverted Fleet Marshal ensured that the defenses of the inner stars were as minimal as possible so the invasion could be complete with minimal opposition.
Even the powerful UAHC Military spec AI’s were corrupted by non-human tech. Entities, known as the Chimera, subverted key UAHC AI’s. With the front door open, and minimal opposition, the Crimson Alliance would have succeeded.
But they didn’t. With the help of the Guild and Unum’s newly nationalized military, the invasion was turned back. It was a David and Goliath situation. The Battle of Tangine would go down in history as the most successful defense of a full-scale invasion since humans took their warfare to the stars.
Now the War Master Guild was out of obscurity. They were idolized heroes once ag
ain. Even the esteemed War Master Jep Alba has pledged to be the Guild’s advisor to the new Fleet Marshal.
But now the tides have turned against the Crimson Alliance. Not by the hands of the UAHC and its allies, but by the same race of non-humans that helped them plot their subterfuge. When the Crimson Alliance’s invasion failed, they had apparently ordered their fleets to pull back out of the inner stars. Their alien benefactors were displeased and began to attack Crimson Alliance assets out of retribution for their apparent failure.
The aliens, known as the Mwargoths, had every intention to subjugate humanity… or worse. They approached the Alliance with open arms and a helping hand. They tried to convince them that they wanted to preserve humanity by installing the tenants of economic and social equality that the Crimson believed in. Or so they were told.
It became apparent that the Mwargoths just wanted humanity to weaken itself, and install a puppet government that it could manipulate. When the time was right to invest resources into crushing humankind, it could be done with cold efficiency.
Nobody knew why this seemingly superior enemy wouldn’t just fly into human space and conquer them the old-fashioned way… Some believe that they’re alien to us in logical thinking, and to them, it made more sense to try subversion. Others believe that they viewed humans as a threat, so they chose caution. Nobody knows for sure.
What we do know, is that for the first time in human history, every single human entity is united. Every independent system, alliance, and even criminal organizations have united to face a common entity. Now the Mwargoths are being beaten back… or so the public is being told.