by Will Crudge
“Say that in UAHC Standard English, James!” Kara said with a sarcastic scoff.
“It means, we’ll be thousands of light years from the fleet by the time I can get the FTL to cooperate!”
NO TIME TO WASTE
I am a War Master now. I still haven’t had time to digest it yet. Apparently, I’m the first one to be initiated without completing my training in almost two thousand years. I can’t help but be concerned that I won’t be accepted by my peers, who have all completed their century of training. But so far, that hasn’t been the case.
Killjoy accompanies me to the Thermopylae’s CIC complex. We chat about the days when I was a girl, and how the massive tiger was like a surrogate parent to me. My father did his best to raise me alone, but his duties often pulled him away. My mother died a lifetime before I was taken out of stasis to be raised, so I never knew her.
Killjoy always joked about being my mother, and when I was really young, I believed him. It ended up being a shock to my system when I was old enough to know the truth. Not just the truth about my real mother, but the truth of what the War Master Guild really was… and how deadly my guardians really were.
It’s odd to think that your father has killed hundreds of people… perhaps thousands… but yet he has always been so loving towards me. He really was a great parent when you consider his line of work. I spent so much time with children of my kind, and being raised in communal Guild camps whenever he was on a mission. The elder Zodiacs helped raise the human and animal offspring of the Guild, and so I always viewed Zodiacs as harmless creatures that loved humans.
The truth is, that most of the Zodiacs that helped raise me were seasoned veterans, and had killed countless enemies. But now I walk with a half-ton tiger. He would never hurt me, and he would gladly give up his life to protect mine. Zodiacs don’t age past their physical prime. Unless something kills them, they’re effectively immortal. So, that is a lot to lose in order to save someone who has a decidedly finite lifespan.
War Masters aren’t immortal. We age like any other human. Just very – very – slowly. Val is the only immortal human that we know of. Unlike us, his genetic makeup that perpetuates his physical form could not be passed to another human. Many of his gifts can be, but just not that one. Not that efforts weren’t made to try. The mad War Master outcast that created the Zodiacs tried. He could only make it work in other animals but failed to replicate it in any primate species. That’s why he refocused his efforts on four-legged predatory animals. Perhaps he might have discovered how to pull it off, but he was stopped before that ever happened.
And now a War Master’s blood is a universally illegal substance throughout the human sphere. For the last two hundred years, most governments didn’t know we still existed, so no effort had been made to enforce it.
Val and Midas believe that the clandestine efforts to obtain our genome by the paramilitary Crimson Agency was an effort to weaponize our gifts. But now a disturbing new theory turns that on its head… Now it’s believed that the Mwargoths had been manipulating the Crimson Alliance to obtain or destroy any remnants of the Guild’s existence.
That can only mean that we are a threat to them. The biggest question is, how did the alien entities know of our existence when most of humanity thought us dead?
Only a very small group of Unum and UACH military entities knew about us and made it their mission to protect us. Granted, the Mwargoths tried to hack us and study us through subterfuge, and by convincing the senior Crimson command that they were helping them snuff out their enemies. Thus, the Alliance felt emboldened to seek vengeance of their former enemies.
Now the Mwargoths’ “Grand Plan” has failed. They had hoped to have humanity blast itself back into a pre-space age level of existence, therefore eliminating the biggest obstacle in their ultimate quest for galactic supremacy.
The other alien races in the galaxy give humanity a wide berth. To them, we are cancer. The only galactic civilization that has reached faster than light space travel, but yet has still maintained and cultivated the ability to wage war. To them, we’re the aliens.
Aliens that can kick asses, to be more specific. But this isn’t the first time the Mwargoths have tried to take over our galaxy. They tried it once before the dawn of man but were defeated by another race. The Arcturians. The Arcturians are known to have common ancestry with the Mwargoths, and at least one other race, so they were best suited to counter them.
It’s been said that the Arcturians had already abandoned war, but still retained enough of a racial capacity for it to retroactively adapt and overcome the Mwargoth threat. Not long after the Mwargoths were exiled to the Andromeda galaxy, the Arcturians ceased to exist. Some say they died out. Others say they ascended into a higher dimension of reality as they evolved past the need to exist in the physical world.
Either way, they’re not here. Despite the return of the Mwargoths, the other alien races still shun us. They’ve offered no assistance… not even a polite ‘hello.’ Val says they believe that the other ‘more enlightened’ races can weather the storm with logic and diplomacy. But the Mwargoths subscribe to neither.
They personify narrowly minded violence. While their genetic cousins may have ascended into heavenly bliss, they resisted ascension at every turn. They are agents of permanence and ego-driven hatred. In the greatest of ironies, they are the polar opposite of the race that they are closest to genetically.
All of these notions dance in my mind as Killjoy and I walk. We go silent for several minutes, as we are melded mentally. It’s peaceful. We both enjoy just being in the moment and feeling each other’s hopes and dreams.
I reach down to run my fingers through his fur as we walk. Physical contact is more intense and intimate among our kind. We can share energy, heal each other, and even feel each other’s pain.
We make it to the main security checkpoint before we head into the CIC complex. The guards are heavily armed Unum security specialists, and they both go to attention as we approach. As if they’ve been practicing synchronized movements, they snap a salute at the same time. I nod and smile.
“It’s an honor to meet you, Ma’am!” One of the guards says. They each have tinted visors on their helmets, so the muffled noise keeps me from knowing which one said it.
I turn to the man on the left. “The honor is mine, corporal!” I say as I note his rank insignia.
“You saved our fleet, and we owe you our lives!” The other guard says. I wouldn’t have known which one had spoken if it wasn’t for the distinctly female voice.
“We all do what is asked of us. I only followed orders like anybody else.” I say… and I mean it! A large part of being a War Master is humble at all times. I strive to embody that.
“You have our thanks, all the same.” The male guard says as he waves his hand in front of the security pad. His digital security tokens are embedded in his neural interface, which is co-located with his central nervous system. His armor blocks much of the signal, as a deterrent to remote hacking, so he obviously has a token transmitter installed in his gauntlet.
The door slides open, and we step through the threshold. We are greeted by fully armored UAHC Soldiers. Two of them. Their bulky tank-like battle armor makes them look enormous… even by War Master Standards. The matte silver finish on their plating is designed to be a standard base coat and reflects minimal light.
I look at each of the Soldiers right upper arms to check their status displays. The small rectangular screens that they wear display their rank insignia and unit assignments. One is a Lance Corporal, and the guy on the left is a Sergeant. I try not to giggle to myself… I always found it odd how they always capitalize their ranks, and even the title ‘Soldier.’
Unlike the generic military term, ‘UAHC Soldier’ is considered a formal titles, and thus it is always written out
as such. They are selected from hundreds of millions of qualified applicants, but only a handful make the final cut to begin their fifteen years of training. They learn everything they could possibly need to know to serve in any conceivable military capacity or rank level. They all start off as Privates when they graduate, and until recently, they had no officer corps… They technically don’t need one, given their incredible level of confidence and professionalism. Match them with advance body augmentations, and tank-like powered armor, and you have the most dangerous human beings in all existence!
Unless a War Master shows up to knock them down a few notches!
“Ma’am, your presence is requested in the General Officer’s Observatory.” The Sergeant says with precise military inflection. I smile and nod… but I have no clue where he’s talking about. I suppose he thinks I do since I commanded the fleet in a full-scale battle, so I don’t blame him for not pointing me in the right direction.
I just thank the Soldiers as I step off to my left. We board the lift, and it automatically takes us to our destination. When the doors open my eyes go wide in awe.
The observatory is spectacularly embossed with elegant decorum. White Doric columns rise to the ceiling and then meet it to form crossed arches. The arch beams are white to match the columns, but the ceiling is painted in an elegant dark beige. High-end contemporary seating arrangements are positioned all around, and each is accented by several potted plants that boast lick green leaves.
I look over to a large picture window that apparently overlooks the CIC. I was so struck by the opulence that I barely notice Val, and Darius sitting in a pair of large white-leather lounge chairs that faced each other. I couldn’t see them from where I was standing, but I felt that Shadow and Sheba were flopped down somewhere nearby.
I approach the seating area where they were, and I smile before taking a seat next to Val. Killjoy lumbers off somewhere, and I’m guessing he went to go nap with his panther friends.
“Greetings, War Master!” Val said enthusiastically. He raised a glass of some kind of clear liquid. Knowing Val, I’d guess it was plain old dihydrogen monoxide.
“Greetings, father!” I say as I get nestled into my seat. I take note on how comfortable it is to move around in War Master Armor, and I’m shocked at how comfortable I feel in a seated position.
I also take notice of the painful feelings of grief I sense from Darius. The Fleet Marshal is wearing a standard UAHC dress uniform. I figure either he’s trying not to personify a front-line Soldier, or he’s just too melancholic to spend the several minutes that’s required to calibrate the movement sensors of powered armor.
“Good morning, Darius!” I say softly. He can tell I’m sensitive to his pain, so I politely wait for him to respond in his own time.
Darius leaned forward in his chair, as his shoulders drooped while he slid his elbows over his knees. He put his hands on either side of his face and rubbed his eyes and cheeks before pulling his hands down under his chin. He let out an exhale that seemed to be from a mixture of pain and exhaustion.
It’s been almost a week since the Battle of Thermopylae, or so it’s been referred to colloquially. Darius probably hasn’t slept, and the absence of his armor means he’s not been relying on stim injections to keep him going. Which is probably why he’s not wearing it… It would force him to sleep the minute the suit detected dangerous levels of fatigue, especially without an enemy threat detection nearby.
“I’ve been – shaken – by the loss of Kara, as you might imagine.” Darius finally speaks. His voice seems horse and distressed. I pity his situation. “The ‘old Darius’ would head out into space at full burn, and try to find any trace of an ion trail…” He paused. I sense that he’s thinking his way through his next frame of thought. But I get hung up on a thought of my own.
Kara and her ship were vaporized by the KEPL barrage… Why the longing to search for a ghost? I think to myself. Darius perks up to look at me strangely as I completed my thought. I’m a little weirded out, to be sure. My kind can sense each other’s intentions, emotions, or even pick up on subtle notions, but reading a mind? Nah! Not even Val can do that.
“You’re wondering why I even talk about searching for her.” He says as a matter of fact. Surely he can’t read my mind, but then again, anyone can make a lucky guess.
“Um, yeah… kind of.” I say with a nervous shrug.
“I can read thoughts that are tied to strong emotions, so there’s nothing to feel nervous about, Katherine.” He assures me. I look over to Val with my eyes wide, and my mouth agape. He nods as if to confirm it.
“Is that common?” I ask while looking back and forth between them. I left it hanging as an open question.
“It’s unique to me, as far as we know,” Darius says. “Val and I have nearly the same exact genetic structure, but my gifts have manifested in a way that has never happened before. He still has many skills and learned abilities that I will never be able to grasp, but I have my own skill set that wouldn’t apply to him conversely. We’re still trying to make sense of it all, of course.” Darius explained.
I knew Darius was one of us, but somehow uniquely powerful. Up until now, I just figured he was the only one of us that could survive a neural interface procedure, or even use nanotech organically. His brilliant military mind would have been expected of any elite UAHC Soldier with his particular resume, so I never looked past the obvious.
“So, you believe the ship survived?” I ask.
“I feel something inside me that tells me it is possible, but nothing more,” Darius said. I see his tired eyes wince as if the words were painful to say.
“We cannot readily dismiss how Darius feels. I felt something inside me as well. Had it been just wishful thinking, or some kind of mental defense mechanism that he is experiencing out of grief, then I would not have sensed it either.” Val chimed in.
“So, what does this have to do with me?” I ask.
“Everything,” Darius said. “I have a responsibility to pick myself up and lead this fleet. This is only one of the hundreds of juggernauts, not to mention the Crimson, Unum, and GBE fleets that are massing as well. I am in command of hundreds of millions of warriors, and the future of humanity is at stake. In short… I can’t devote any significant resources to go on a search for a single small ship. Especially when forensic data analysis can’t confirm if they were vaporized, or jumped into slip-space.”
“It doesn’t seem like it would be that difficult to do, is it?” I ask. We have stasis, FTL, nano-tech… but we can’t look for FTL signatures?
“I’m afraid that the energy shields on the Mwargoth ships flooded our visual and energy scan sensors with too many stimuli to deconstruct it to any level of usefulness. The nature of their shield tech might be somewhat parallel to our own, but different enough… The frequencies they gave off during the KEPL impacts confused the scanners. We’ve even tried cross-leveling that data with other ships, but the only ones that would have been able to pick out any anomalies were ships that never survived the battle.” Val answered.
“Let me guess. You want me to look for her?” I say it rhetorically. I know the answer already.
“Yes,” Darius replies.
“Where do I even begin? I’m not the best space-farer out there, but I’ve picked up enough basics to understand how FTL works on smaller ships. A big ship would have vast reactor output potential, and can bunny hop from jump to jump within reason. A smaller ship, like the Foehammer…”
“Takes longer to recharge the FTL drive.” Val finishes my words for me. “That ship has had state of the art upgrades, but at the end of the day, you can only pack so much power into a small hull type. I should know… I build warships to support Unum’s economy.”
“It still begs the question… Where do I begin?” I ask.
“Midas? Would you cover all the big science stuff for us?” Darius asked. I fina
lly detect a smidgeon of humor in his voice. He’s a warrior. His resilience will carry the day, I reckon.
“As you wish, Darius,” Midas speaks. “I’ve conducted simulations. Based on the estimated rate of charge at the time the sloop may have jumped, the crew would have to remain in slip-space for a specific amount of time for the generator to recover enough energy to transition into normal space.”
“I see. And we’re assuming that the relative velocity the vessel had at the point of transition would determine the rate of travel, relative to that time?” I say. I sound smart… But really, I just spit stuff out because it sounded like something I should say.
“Well said, Katherine,” Midas responded. I’ll be damned! “As you may know, they most-likely jumped blind. Otherwise, we would not be having this conversation right now. Had they pre-loaded coordinates into their NAV, then they would have likely emerged somewhere in line with human habitation. Granted, they would still be stuck in FTL for a while, but the odds of coming out of slip-space within data burst range of a human outpost would be much greater.”
“What about an FTL transmitter probe?” I ask.
“That would be effectively useless at the ranges we’re discussing. Besides, it’s likely they may have reached uncharted space, and they would have to manually search for something to triangulate from.” Midas explained.
“There’s always the galactic core, isn’t there?” I ask.
“Yes. And they would have checked that first. However, even by measuring the distance between the core and the outer rim, they would still need a third point of reference to dial in their estimated location. That’s the hardest part.” Val chimed in.
“And if space is uncharted, then they would have no third point of reference?” I state as a matter of fact.
“Precisely,” Darius says. Sometimes I forget he’s a former Mark-6 fighter pilot. He can speak astrogation in his sleep!
“They didn’t bug out in normal space… we know that for a hard fact. That means we don’t have an ion trail to analyze. A blind jump means that they likely popped out at an estimated distance we can somewhat estimate… but it’s their vector that is the issue. Am I missing anything else?” I say.