Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles)

by James Jackson

  “It has yet to be proven that intelligence has any survival value.” - Arthur C Clark

  Welcome to 'Alliance', book four of the Terran Chronicles Universe.

  Introduction

  The Terran remains the coalition’s only functioning spacecraft, and humanity’s single gateway to the stars. While the implementation of Gamin technologies for Earth-based uses is proving successful, the ability to construct a reusable spacecraft is not. General Hayes is under instruction to convince George to take the Terran on a special mission. But he is apprehensive, Regent Voknor of the Gamin has made it abundantly clear that the military will not control the Terran. Humanity’s destiny will be determined by events and decisions that take place within these pages.

  Prologue

  The Distant Past

  While the cavemen of Earth huddle around simple campfires, eating crudely cooked meat along with whatever has been foraged, events beyond their comprehension are taking place far out in space. Even the most powerful telescopes designed by their distant children would be unable to witness the magnificent spectacle. But if they could see what was happening beyond the Milky Way, they would be awed, and terrified, at the same time.

  The intergalactic drive systems of the colossal spacecraft, Dagris, begin to shut down. Hundreds upon hundreds of massive engines reduce their thrust. The bright glow from the rear of the ship visibly diminishes. The distance between the stars a mere hop in comparison to the distance between galaxies.

  The vessel’s single power core, a miniature sun, redirects its abundant energies from the ship’s drive units to the internal systems. Darkened hallways and rooms light up all over the ship. Internal gravity is engaged, along with life support systems which begin the process of providing heat and fresh breathable air.

  The vessel’s automatics cycle through a complex series of diagnostics before the crew is woken up. Scout Master Dagris, for whom the ship is named, is the leader of this expedition, and he is the first to wake.

  Dagris opens his eyes slowly, and stares at the out of focus covering to his chamber. Laying on his back, he blinks rapidly in an attempt to clear his vision, and tries to ignore his thumping headache. He is so dry, his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He lifts both of his arms and tries with all his might to focus on the feeding tubes which are attached to them. He tilts his head to the left.

  Ouch!

  Dagris is cruelly reminded of the cables attached to his scalp when the hair that has grown around them is pulled. A mist of water sprays over his body, startling him.

  “Blast it,” Dagris curses. His heart races in his chest from the sudden adrenaline rush.

  Remembering his training, Dagris turns his head into the mist and opens his mouth. The water sprays over his naked body, providing much needed moisture to his dry skin. A short time later, the water ceases, and the cover that blocks his view slides open revealing a dimly lit area.

  Dagris yawns, stretches his aching body. While staring at the blurry lights he says, “Well, it’s about time.”

  Taking a series of deep breaths Dagris feels his energy returning. Leaning to his right, he lifts a cover plate, then presses the single button inside. Instantly, the feeding tubes attached to his right arm cease injecting the nutrients which have sustained him during his slumber. He turns to his left and repeats the process, then carefully removes the tubes. Rubbing his arms alleviates the minor stinging sensation. The puncture holes leak small droplets of blood, which he promptly streaks up and down his arm as he rubs them all the more. The blood’s pink color is a stark contrast to his pasty white skin.

  Next Dagris peels off the dozens of probes that are attached to his scalp. A task made much easier thanks to the moisture in his hair. He scratches at his itchy head in annoyance.

  Finally, Dagris sits up, stares off into the distance, and tries once more to get his eyes to focus. He mutters to himself, “I am glad the engineers went to two independent feeding systems. This alone has increased the survival rate of those inside the hibernetic stasis chambers significantly.”

  “Dagris.” The synthesized voice startles him.

  “Blast it,” Dagris says for the second time since waking. His heart races once again.

  The voice continues as though his outburst never occurred, “Your muscular atrophy level is five percent, well within normal parameters.”

  “Central,” Dagris replies, “Status report.”

  The spacecraft’s computer system responds, “Condition nominal, target co-ordinates achieved, power stabilization routines in effect.”

  “In other words,” Dagris, replies to the ship’s computer, “I have time for a shower.”

  “Correct,” comes the intuitive, and unexpected reply.

  Dagris lifts his eyebrows at the response, but says nothing. He takes his time exiting his chamber, then proceeds to withdraw his coverings that are stored beneath it. Standing and stretching his arms and legs, he gazes at his surroundings. Thousands of compartments just like his reach off into the distance. This room is merely one of dozens of such rooms spread out around the core of the intergalactic spacecraft, his intergalactic spacecraft, the Scout Ranger Dagris.

  Dagris grins at the thought, and says, “Central, once power stabilization is complete, begin waking my command crew.”

  “That request will require your security code.” Replies the ship’s computer.

  Dagris is surprised by the response, and once again intones. “Blast it! When did they...” He sighs, and then says, “Never mind.”

  “Continuous scanning mode reveals no targets, your request to fire is invalid,” Retorts the ship’s computer.

  Dagris shakes his head at the obstinate computer, then makes his way to a cleaning room. He sings ballads as he showers, clips the nails on his six fingered hands, then removes the excess hair from his body. Some people find hair fashionable, he does not, and removes almost all of it. Finally, he stares down at his feet, his toenails have grown so long some almost touch the floor. He trims all twelve nails, then dresses.

  Clean and dry, Dagris stares at his clothed form in the mirror. His eyes are redder than normal, but nothing he is concerned with. They will return to their natural pink color soon enough. He grins with pride at the Imperial insignia which is attached above his corporate emblem. Suddenly he frowns, then leans closer to the mirror. He runs his fingers across his teeth, and is instantly disgusted at how blunt they feel.

  “Blast it,” Dagris curses, then adds loudly, “That wasn’t an order, Central.”

  Shaking his head, he ponders, another price to pay for such a lengthy mission, but if successful, the rewards will be incalculable. He cleans, sharpens, and then polishes his teeth. Once he is satisfied with them, he strides with purpose to the command room.

  A thin layer of dust covers the chairs and consoles that are arrayed around the room. Dagris frowns as he wonders, has it really been that long? He sits in his command chair, and deftly enters his complex security code. His long fingers move efficiently across the console. He checks the ship’s positional markers, and is pleased to discover that the ship is stationary in space, relative to the galaxy before him.

  “Central.” Dagris states, then after a brief pause, he orders, “Wake ‘em all up.”

  The computers reply is almost instantaneous, “Power core is at one percent of nominal, but within acceptable limits. Crew wake cycle commencing.”

  Dagris stares at the crew casualty reports as they appear before him. As each room is cycled through, he becomes happier and happier. He grins excitedly when he reviews the last report, and says, “Great job Central, less than one percent casualty rate.”

  He silently mimics the computer’s impassionate response of. “Fatalities are within acceptable limits for the mission brief.” Knowing it will take some time before his commanders arrive, Dagris examines the initial data of the Galaxy before him. He smiles as he sees the information from the ship’s sensors matches that from the probes sent long ago. />
  “Joldar, reporting for duty,” intones the voice of his main officer, and friend.

  Dagris turns to him and grins, “You live! Would you believe all the command crew survived?” he asks cheerfully.

  Joldar grins back and says, “So we have to share the spoils of conquest with more of our brethren,” he shrugs his shoulders and says excitedly, “but, we are the first, and as such have spoilage rights from all that follow.” His sharp teeth glint menacingly in the light.

  Dagris turns as another joins them, “Ah, Lapso,” he says with a grin, “You live.”

  The group waits for the other commanders to arrive. They are in no hurry, yet review the galaxy before them with ambitious and greedy eyes.

  Two more men enter the room, and after a series of greetings, Dagris speaks. “This galaxy is enormous, so there will be plenty for all.”

  The men nod in agreement, but remain quiet, they have yet to hear their leader’s terms.

  Dagris continues, “Before we begin, let’s eat.” He grins as he points to a wall panel.

  They expect to find synthetic tasteless plasma, but instead, when they open the panel are greeted with live wichu. They’re so large they require both hands to hold.

  Dagris walks to the panel, selects one for himself, and simply says, “Enjoy.”

  They all sink their sharp teeth into the soft bodied grubs. Juices spurt into their mouths and run down their chins. All that can be heard is the sounds of sucking, slurping, and swallowing. They discard the empty husks into a disposal unit, clean themselves, and wait.

  “Okay,” Dagris says, “Joldar, Lapso, Mylic, and Draco, Central has divided the galaxy into quadrants, and sectors. Assign your scouts to their sectors, offer them bountiful contracts, and you will see rewards beyond measure.”

  Joldar stares at his console as more data is received, “this galaxy is so rich, every scout will have more planets to explore than they could imagine.”

  Draco rubs his chin thoughtfully, “And your cut of the profits, Dagris?” His question is almost insolent, but that is to be expected of him.

  Dagris leans forward and touches the imperial embalm on his chest, “They require twenty-five percent.” He then touches his corporate logo, and then continues, “As do our sponsors.” Grinning, he makes them wait, then finally he says, “And I will take one percent.”

  All four men are stunned, no expedition leader has ever taken such a low margin. Dagris sits back in his chair and adds, “One percent of this Galaxy is the same as ten percent of most others.”

  The ship’s computer intones, interrupting the discussion. “Wake cycle complete, diverting power to maneuvering.”

  Dagris grins excitedly, then says, “Central, charge the scout ships.”

  Throughout the enormous ship, thousands of crewmen prepare for the next leg of their journey. Rumors quickly spread of the spoils that will come their way. Each crew member checks their own scout ship, then once satisfied, secures themselves inside.

  The Scout Ranger Dagris accelerates to an incomprehensible speed as it moves toward the Galactic edge. Its intergalactic drives pulse at minimal thrust, and still the stars rush at them. The crew showers and eats while they wait for further instructions. They are still preparing for their upcoming mission when the ship begins to decelerate again.

  The ship’s computer intones. “Establishing galactic orbit relative to core systems. Matching spiral arm rotational factors.”

  Power fluctuates throughout the ship for the briefest of seconds, then returns to normal.

  Dagris frowns, but when Central remains silent, he relaxes. Turning to his commanders, he says. “Send the scouts, prepare to launch the miners.”

  The four men grin, not only will their mining rights make them all wealthy beyond measure, according to the preliminary scans, there is no one to oppose them. All they have to do is survey as many planets as they can, then the automatic mining craft will do the rest. Should they run into any opposition, they will be easily dispatched.

  Dagris sits in his command chair once more and watches as thousands of scout craft begin to leave his ship. He reflects with pride. The empire depleted the resources of twenty-seven planets to build this vessel. The Company then invested its wealth into the scout craft. The biggest hurdle has been crossed, now to mine, and then return. The profits will please them greatly.

  Joldar climbs into his own scout, and launches it. Once he is in open space, he stares back at the mother ship. He gulps at its size, as he too reflects on the considerable effort required to build such a craft. Its power core is a small sun which rests in the middle of a giant wedge, one that points toward the center of the Galaxy. The ship’s forward section curves up and around the bright core on all sides, barely encompassing a third of its size. The rear section, which houses the ship’s drive systems, also curves around the power core, encompassing a mere quarter of its size. Support struts the size of city skyscrapers curve around the ball of energy on all sides, connecting the front and rear sections together. It is from these structures that the numerous scout ships have launched. The autonomous mining facilities remain behind, for now, nestled in the gaps between these curved struts. He turns his attention away from the Dagris and focuses on his target area, a sliver of space that reaches from the edge of the galaxy toward its center.

  Back on the mother-ship, Dagris sits in his chair and watches a counter as it surpasses thirty-five thousand scout craft. The counter begins to slow, and then finally stops, just a few hundred shy of thirty-six thousand. He smiles and reflects, the initial phase of the mission is complete. Now I wait.

  Chapter One - Home Sweet Home

  Cindy leans back in her command chair, absentmindedly twirling her long blond hair. The chairs raised and centralized position affords her an excellent view of the bridge, the four command consoles, and more importantly, the main viewer. She stares at the mesmerizing kaleidoscope of colors that bombard the screen, and relaxes. The effect is like watching a campfire’s flames as they flicker in the night. She closes her blue eyes and reflects on their last mission; the establishment of a colony on New Earth. After a few moments of reminiscing, she opens her eyes once more, and shifts her attention to observe the crew in action, her crew.

  Captain John Thompson has become rather adept at piloting the Terran while using the Gamin control system before him. He no longer refers to his own computer system, which is connected to GUS, as it is too slow. She watches as he runs his finger down the side of his control panel, reducing the ship’s speed. As he disengages the main drive, a slight shudder runs through the ship’s deck plates. No one reacts to the faint vibrations that emanate throughout the ship, it happens every time they slow down.

  Joe monitors his Gamin console, then reviews data coming into his computer, which is also connected to GUS. He looks over his shoulder at Cindy, grins, then says, “SOL system ahead. We will be home in approximately ten hours.” His Australian accent causes Cindy to smile, it is a contrast to everyone else’s on board, and quite distinctive. Glancing to his left, Joe says to John, “you really know how to fly this beast now, don’t you mate?”

  John’s fingers move deftly over his control panel as he checks the sensor data. He activates the sub light engines and responds, “Learning each Gamin symbol is pretty handy. It also helps that much of the data is displayed in English now. Not sure what you guys did when you put the ship back together, but it’s a nice touch.”

  Joe shrugs his shoulders and replies, “It wasn’t me mate, it’s almost as if the more we use these systems, the more they’re adapting to us.” He shrugs his shoulders as he continues. “I only use GUS when I have time to compare the data, and if there is a discrepancy, I am learning that it is GUS, and not the Gamin systems, that is in error.”

  Peter, who is sitting next to Joe, nods in silent agreement, then turns to his right. He catches Emma’s eye, then smiles at her. She grins back at him, glances at his console and nods, silently telling him he should be m
onitoring that, and not her. Peter steals one last look at her shoulder length red hair and soft blue eyes, then turns back to focus on his console.

  Cindy glances over to the left at Radclyf and Hayato, then smiles when they meet her gaze. The presence of the elite British and Japanese military men is reassuring as is the way they work together. She frowns as she stares at Peter’s back, hoping he decides to remain on board. Even though he admits to being a KGB operative, and his real name is Petrovich, she still trusts him implicitly. She glances to her right, and when she notices how excited Johnny is, her smile widens. The timid young teenager has grown a lot this last year, and while New Earth made his mother, Lisa, along with a few others, unwell, he thrived on the planet. She offers Robert McKnight, their resident reporter who sits quietly next to Johnny, a respectful nod.

  She turns to look behind her and spots George in his Gamin bodysuit, which is connected to a wall console. He not only completes the family unit by being a great example to his son, Johnny, he is also an invaluable bridge crew member. Patrick, his protégé, also wears a Gamin bodysuit. He stands nearby, monitoring the ship’s systems. Without this pair of men, and the technological marvel of their bodysuits, neither the Terran, nor the colony, would be where they are today.

  “Bridge, reactor control here,” comes a voice through the bridge speakers.

  Cindy taps a symbol on the console on her chair, and replies, “Bridge here.”

  “Hey,” the voice continues, “Do you want us to idle these reactors?”

  Cindy raises her eyebrows and glances at the floor, “I guess you felt the main drive disengaging.”

  “Sure did, and I take it we’re home?” responds the voice from the speakers.

  Cindy glances at Joe, who simply shrugs his shoulders and nods, so she says, “Sure. It looks like we won’t be needing them for a while.”