Initiation Series: Series One Compilation (Terran Chronicles)

by James Jackson

  Voknor immediately orders, “Escape trajectory, now!”

  Cushkull announces, “Engaging main drive!”

  The familiar cascade of colors fills the forward view as they accelerate to maximum speed. Regent Voknor leans back in his command chair and wonders about the ambush, and the obsolete fleet they engaged a few days prior. There were a number of worlds he could have chosen for repairs, and he close the wrong one. He wonders if somehow the Atlans knew, or if it was blind luck, bad luck for them, that they were there.

  Frazik reviews the data on his console, then forlornly reports, “Markulz’s craft failed to follow us, and Tilpak’s broke up soon after engaging their main drive.’ He pauses, then continues, “Including us, twenty-three of the fleet remain, but some will require extensive repairs.”

  Regent Voknor slams his fists into his armrests with anger and frustration, then stands and leaves the bridge. The command crew watches him go; they feel the same way. Being on the losing side of a long-standing war is distressing, to say the least.

  Standing before the hastily fabricated bulkhead causes Voknor to smile. He walks on, down the shattered corridor, past armor and hull that has melted into a congealed mass, then stops at a large hull breach. Beyond the wide crack, he sees the shields fluctuating as power throbs through the severely compromised power grid in this section.

  Crew members watch in awe as their Regent pulls from an inside pocket, a portable crafting tool, then steps into the split. He reaches out with his arm and, starting from deep inside the crack, begins to repair the damage. Others are inspired, and quickly gather tools, and then do what they can to assist. It takes quite some time, but eventually the massive gash in the hull is sealed.

  Once satisfied with the repairs, Voknor tours the ship, then only when he is certain that there is nothing more that he can do, he retires to his quarters, and reflects. He sleeps fitfully that night, then wakes early, to a surprise. Every single Prime of the fleet has left a message, confirming their oath of loyalty. Some even go as far as to blame the Emperor for the ambush, asserting that Voknor is gaining too much favor, and thus becoming a threat to his rule.

  Voknor’s spirits lift from their support, and while he makes his way to the bridge, considers another radical idea. He strides onto the bridge, and queries, “Status?”

  Skylow immediately responds, “All systems operational; apart from the outer hull and armor, all combat damage is repaired.”

  Cushkull adds his report, “At our current speed, we are ten days from the target planet.”

  “Excellent,” Voknor replies, before ordering, “I want the fleet to reduce to sub-light outside that system, then approach cautiously.”

  “Understood,” Cushkull replies without hesitation as he begins to make calculations.

  Voknor strides to the main viewer, where he observes the massive gash in his ship, then after a moment’s reflection states, “I wish to meet the one who saved the hatchery.”

  Skylow reviews his repair logs, then says, “I have the data on file; contacting them now.” He grins when he sees the name, but says nothing.

  Voknor sits in his command chair, and while he waits, reviews the status of the fleet. A few moments later, a younger Gamin enters the bridge, and stands before him.

  Regent Voknor looks up, and recognizing who it is, exclaims, “Sharz! What a surprise.”

  “Regent!” Sharz replies proudly, then stares directly ahead, avoiding eye contact.

  Voknor considers this Gamin’s bravery, his position, and then asks, “How well do you get on with the Primes of the fleet?” The Regent knows the Primes respect Sharz, but he is curious to hear Sharz’s answer.

  Sharz turns his gaze to meet the Regent’s, and replies, “I work well with them, and their Supplies Officers, to balance the fleet’s reserves with requirements.”

  “Good!” Voknor replies, then adds, “In addition to your regular duties, you are now my personal advisor. Claim any open bridge station as your own, your place is at my side now.”

  Sharz shifts on his feet nervously. No Regent has ever had a personal advisor; he is not even a Prime, and yet is being offered a great honor. He raises his left fist, stares Voknor in the eye and swears, “My life is yours Regent Voknor!”

  “Good, now find out what the fleet needs, and make it happen!” Voknor orders.

  As Sharz leaves the bridge, Voknor contacts each of the Primes individually, personally advising them of Sharz’s role. He also impresses upon the Primes the need to relay all their requirements, no matter how small. The bridge officers remain quiet; they are becoming used to their Regent doing things differently.

  Skylow smiles as he realizes Regent Voknor is taking his recommendation of Sharz being promoted to Prime seriously, and feels a renewed sense of pride at the faith being shown in his judgement.

  Regent Voknor has an idea forming with regard to the planet they are rushing toward; he is not sure exactly what that is just yet, but he is following his instincts. He has a feeling that Sharz is going to be an integral part of what lies beyond.

  The days pass as the fleet continues to travel outward, their battle damage reducing their overall speed drastically. With ever dwindling supplies, thanks to all having been committed to the construction efforts on Pythos, the crews perform minor miracles in keeping the more severely damaged craft operational.

  Sharz strides onto the bridge, walks to Voknor, then says, “Regent, two of the ships require immediate repairs to their engine struts. The procedure will take less than a quarter cycle, but will require practically all of our reserve resources to complete.”

  Voknor tilts his head as he orders, “Resort to energy conversion once the resources are depleted.”

  Sharz shifts uncomfortably, then replies, “Regent, many power units in the fleet are nearing the end of their life-cycles, and we are unable to manufacture more without an influx of radiologics. Energy conversion will deplete them all the more.”

  A chill runs up Voknor’s spine as he realizes that Sharz is correct. He glances to his advisor, grateful that he spoke, when so many others would have simply complied!

  Sharz misinterprets the pause and says, “Energy reserves, by your order.”

  “Wait!” Voknor responds, “Only use the energy conversion on an absolute must need basis.” He nods to Sharz as he adds, “Great work!”

  The fleet halts in space between the stars. The dire need for urgent repairs is evident in the debris trail that three craft leave in their wake. Hull and armor continues to peel away in small pieces, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs for any would be pursuer.

  Regent Voknor analyzes the debris, and cringes; though only measuring in the scale of hundreds of parts per million, that is still an order of magnitude much higher than standard space particles, and thus is trackable.

  As Sharz predicted, the fleet is moving again soon enough, and no longer leaves behind a debris trail that a first-year youngling could follow. His ability to coordinate the fleet’s repair capabilities impresses all, especially the Primes of the ships being attended to. Sharz is astounded that none of the Primes question any of his decisions, and instead, work hand in hand with him, to the point of issuing orders, backing him.

  Earth – We Come in Peace; Shoot to Kill.

  Regent Voknor stares at the data on the only inhabited planet in the system and curses, “The local population has radiologics!” He leans back in his command chair, lifts his hand to his chin, and ponders what to do. The civilization went from a being tech four civilization, to a tech five, remarkably quickly, he considers. Then it dawns on him, perhaps they could replace some of their aging power units.

  Lilpax, who suggested this planet, remains quiet, the data scan she used was recent, by their standards, and yet the natives went from crude flying machines, to orbital satellites, and even a few long-distance probes, which Machkno has already destroyed. Regent Voknor has found it advantageous if the indigenous wonder what happened to their space probes, rathe
r than seeing images of their fleet approaching. That tends to scare the inhabitants.

  “Halt the fleet, and assemble the Primes, along with their key officers.” Voknor orders as he stands and paces the area before the main viewer.

  The fleet slows to a crawl, and then moves close enough for shuttles to transport the crew to the flagship, and stops. The Primes find the inconvenience of physically traveling to the flagship a minor issue; they appreciate having a voice in the fleet’s operations.

  While waiting, Voknor researches the planet ahead; its various cultures, governments, and religious beliefs, fascinate him. Their stark contrasts are quite at odds with one another, thus explaining the massive amounts of military hardware globally, while they yet seem to be at relative peace. He leans closer to the main viewer, perplexed, when he sees a region with vast amounts of ground troops poised, facing equally staged troops, while nearby, non-military aircraft fly overhead between the two factions. He shakes his head at the situation as he ponders the political dilemma of being at peace, yet ready for war, and imagines the stress to the civilians on both sides. The more he watches, the more situations he finds that mirror the first. He realizes that he must neutralize the military on the planet if they are to acquire the resources they so desperately need.

  Sharz reluctantly intrudes, “Regent; The Primes are assembled.”

  “On my way!” Voknor replies as he reviews another area of the planet. Once he feels that he has a basic understanding of what they face, he leaves the bridge.

  He strides into the meeting room, takes a deep breath, then as he steps to his place, states, “The third planet of this system is populated by a race who appear similar to Atlans, but they are not, so in that regard, there is nothing for us to be concerned about.”

  A few of the Primes glance to each other, and quietly exchange words, before they listen once more to their leader.

  Voknor surprises them when he changes the subject, “Before we discuss our options, there is a matter of importance to attend to.”

  The Primes glance back and forth, baffled about what he could mean.

  Regent Voknor raises his clenched fist and shouts, “Honor to Primes, Devril, Pitrax, Markulz, Tilpak, and all their crews. They will be remembered.”

  The Primes in the room lift their fists solemnly, some mumble affirmations, while others silently reflect on their lost comrades.

  Voknor lowers his fist, then continues, “Now, to our continued survival!”

  Prytec, like many others, feels a great sense of pride in Regent Voknor. By honoring the dead, he is showing his respect for their sacrifice, something his father never did.

  Once the room goes quiet, Voknor continues, “The inhabitants call this planet Earth; it is heavily populated, and industrialized. The question is how do we get them to provide us with resources, at no risk to us, and yet at a minimal impact to them?”

  Glarth looks up, and suggests, “Impact! Let’s level a few dozen cities; they will comply!” He grins devilishly, clearly relishing the idea.

  “I would rather not have the population against us!” Voknor answers disparagingly.

  Glarth is about to reply when Lokarz interrupts him, “I have it!”

  Everyone turns to look at him, including Regent Voknor, who does so with a raised eye.

  Lokarz looks around and says, “You’re both right! How about we launch hundreds of pounders; eliminating their orbital facilities, and anything that could either detect our fleet, or be a threat!”

  Leprax grins as he adds, “Yes! And let’s target their cities, but give them advanced warning of the attack!”

  The Primes continue to add their ideas for variations of the attack strategy, then finally, Regent Voknor lifts his hand and states, “This is what we will do. We will give the population one of their day-night cycle’s, warning. Launch all pounders at the lowest speed possible. We will target a couple cities, all space satellites, along with as many ground based facilities as we can.”

  Glarth nods, “We target their cities, but give them time to evacuate! That sends a powerful message, without killing lots of them!’ I like that.” Secretly he hopes that they kill lots of these Atlan look a-likes, their recent loses have him itching for a victory, any victory.

  Voknor tilts his head as he considers another idea, then says, “Sharz, Glarth, once we’re in orbit, join me on my bridge.”

  “Yes Regent,” they intone; both curious what this is about.

  Regent Voknor’s gaze becomes serious as he states, “We must remain vigilant, and can ill afford an uprising. We will measure our force carefully, and repair the fleet as quickly as we can!”

  And so it Begins

  Voknor watches as the fleet launches hundreds of pounders, then sits back and waits. The more he reviews the planet’s history and its numerous cultures, the more he realizes that he has to do something rather different this time. He must quickly instill that resistance is futile, and yet get the populace working for them.

  Reviewing many of the planet’s various channels shocks him at first, then he chuckles when he realizes that most are fictional, and not factual. He breaths easy knowing that the planet does not have massive space fleets in hiding, nor are they a part of some greater galactic community. With nothing else to do, except wait, he retires to his quarters, and rests.

  The main bridge crew also takes the opportunity to rest, allowing a rare opportunity for some of the younger members to sit at the controls of the flagship, and monitor the fleet. Though the fleet is stationary, they are awed by the responsibility.

  Once rested, Regent Voknor strides onto the bridge, and grins when he sees the nervous faces turn to him. His regular bridge crew is still absent; knowing there may be little time to rest once they arrive at the planet, he does not call them to their stations.

  Striding to his command chair, Voknor orders, “Inform the fleet to engage sub-light engines, and follow our projectiles.”

  The four inexperienced Gamin before the Regent are stunned; one of them gets to order the fleet to move! They stare at each other for a moment, then finally one of them replies, “Relaying your orders, Regent!”

  Voknor leans back, suddenly realizing that by relying on his main bridge crew exclusively, he has failed to train these hopefuls. He strokes his snout with a claw as he ponders how to remedy this, then orders, “None of you have any down time anymore. You are to remain on the bridge and observe how things are done.”

  “Yes Regent!” they intone, then glance at each other nervously.

  Voknor chuckles at their unease, then adds, “You can still eat and rest, but I want you here on the bridge during all interactions with the local populace!”

  They all relax as they realize that this will be an opportunity to learn how the flagship is truly run.

  As the regular bridge crew arrives, they move to the sides, claiming spare workstations as their own.

  Voknor leans forward and orders, “Cushkull, slow us down, I wish to trail behind the fleet.”

  Cushkull immediately reduces their forward velocity, while Skylow informs the fleet of their actions. They both know that hanging back is not out of fear for themselves, but rather to be able to quickly react to any unexpected aggression.

  The inexperienced crew is astounded by the way that Voknor seems to issue few orders, and then relies on his bridge crew to implement them. They had thought that he micromanaged everything.

  Lilpax arrives on the bridge and immediately stops and stares at the additional crew. Grinning, she recalls how nervous she was during her first bridge assignment. She turns as Sharz strides past her, and joins those on the bridge. She has never seen the bridge this busy, but is grateful for the additional personnel.

  Machkno spends scant time reviewing his data, then reports, “The locals have launched missiles to intercept our pounders.”

  Frazik frowns, then states, “All trajectories should be fully visible to them, but the two target cities show no signs of evacuation.”


  Lilpax adds her comments, “We have seen this kind of panic before. Their transit-ways are heavily congested.”

  Machkno sneers, “And yet I can clearly see military units rebasing away from target sites to other facilities.”

  Voknor nods as he utters, “So, their leaders know, and yet they’re not informing their citizens. Shameful!” He voices in disdain, “I don’t like them already.”

  Machkno cheers, “The fools are using radiologics against our pounders, and judging by the residual radiation, they’re not messing around, and using some big ones.”

  Voknor adjusts the main viewer to display the planet’s only space station, though to call it such, is a generous statement. “Look!” He exclaims.

  They all stare as a frail looking craft docks with the station, then as a small pounder blasts it to pieces, the craft rockets away. They monitor its progress all the way to the ground.

  “Yeah!” Lilpax cheers as it touches down on a runway. She suddenly looks down as she realizes that she probably should not be cheering for the locals.

  Skylow glances back, then noticing Voknor’s smile, states, “I think we can all relate to that heroic rescue. Regardless of who they are, that was some brilliant piloting.”

  However, none of them cheer as heavy pounders strike the two target cities, neither of which was evacuated. This too is something they can relate to.

  Regent Voknor leans back in his chair as he orders, “Eliminate any remaining satellites, and get our own grid in place, then send the planned message.”

  His bridge crew relays the orders, then watches as the fleet spreads out, and enters orbit.

  Cushkull has little choice but to travel through the debris field that encircles the planet. Finally, he comments, “There are numerous smaller objects orbiting the planet, and they could be a hazard for our shuttles.”