by Lee Guo
"Good bye, everyone."
The snake fighters fired.
Everything in the room lit up like hell. The shuttle pod exploded. Metal fragments smashed and sliced through bodies, killing the bridge crew in the passenger compartment. As more laser energy pumped into the shuttle, every solid object expanded into plasma.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Star System Dalon, Core of the Viron Empire
Planet Dalon's World
Highguard Hospital Complex, Aquaria
Building E, VIP Floor, Intensive Care Unit
Room 001
He kept falling, falling. Blackness everywhere—no light, no ground, things did not exist for him to hold onto…Just nothingness. A total void, and so he fell.
Wait—a light. It became larger. Like a single star in a black sky.
Prancort wanted to touch it, to grab hold of it.
Prancort...yes, that’s my name, as it has always been, and always will be.
He found himself in a kindergarten. He could hear children's voices.
"Prancort! Prancort!" they yelled. "Can't catch me, Prancort!"
He could see toys. He could stand up. He could smell the odors of school, of young children, of toys, of lunch and of the city.
Suddenly, everything around him changed, again. He was walking home from school. The megacity surrounded him. Gigantic air cars, hovering busses, tall massive metropolitan skyscrapers. If he looked down, he could see endless chasms filled with hovering vehicles like fishes, all the way into the unending mists below. He stood on a bridge, high in the sky, one of many bridge serving as walkways between buildings.
I have to get home. I've got to meet mom.
Home. Apartment 2894 B, Level 294, complex M, one of thousands of living quarters in a gigantic residential building.
The surrounding changed, again.
His mom, lean and tall, smiling.
"Ma! Ma! I'm back. I've come back!" waved Prancort. Ah, home again, he explored his home like it was always there, like a child. He remembered every room, every doorway, every piece of furniture.
It all came back.
He kept walking, running, jumping through the passages of his apartment. He gazed at mom, who always smiled at him.
Then something seemed wrong.
She looked old. Wrinkle lines formed on her face.
She's aged, thought Prancort. Suddenly, the memory clicked in him. This was the day he left home. The day of his graduation and his inception into the military academy on Gregor Prime. "Good bye, mother! It'll be a while before I see you!"
His mother cried, but her tears couldn't hold him back. He felt determined to go through cadet school and become an officer in his nation's military.
When he looked at his hands again, they were no longer children's hands, anymore, but that of an adult.
The scene changed, again. The academy at Gregor Prime. His dorm. Years of studying, and thinking, and training, and practicing to be the best, to excel among tens of thousands of officer-cadets.
This became his place, the place which gave birth to the legend of Prancort…the unbeatable.
He now remembered the simulation rooms. He plugged the connector lines that nano connected with his brain to lead him to a virtual reality, a nonexistent place where he competed with other cadets in war games. He remembered the confidence he felt. His agility, his nimble mindedness. His consistency and energy.
The scene changed, again.
Graduation. The Yellow of his uniform. The various medals he wore beside his military chevrons. His cadet cap. The great unbending pose as he received his award as the Academy's highest scoring cadet that year.
He’d done it, but the rest of his life still lie ahead of him.
He remembered his first assignment. Tactical advisor to a captain on board an assault frigate. People greeted him warmly, and the resulting promotions combined with the war's unending openings allowed Prancort to fill in positions at an unheard of pace.
He became a lieutenant, then a commander, then a captain, then a commodore, all within five years' time.
He remembered his first command of a starship. The VSF Endeavor. The bridge seemed so small, because the Endeavor was an assault carrier.
Then, he remembered his first flag command. The flag bridge of the VSF Adamantium, a Viron juggernaut. He remembered the look of hope in the young faces and gazes which eagerly followed his every word…his every move.
His promotion to rear admiral happened in two years. Then counter admiral, then vice admiral, then a full admiral.
When he looked at his hands, they became middle-aged hands. The lines of wear and tear showed on his palms, combined with the brutality of keeping constant strength and an agile mind.
I am...Prancort. I am me.
He then—woke up.
"It worked!" said a man in a white coat.
Prancort stared up at the hospital ceiling. He lay on a bed. He glanced to his left and right. Dozens of white coated doctors stared at him with excitement. On their faces was look of success.
A successful operation.
A plan working perfectly well.
Prancort had seen that look thousands of times.
"Fleet Admiral Prancort," the lead doctor stated, in a stiff confident voice while walking closer, "Welcome back."
"What happened?"
"You were infested with a neural nano virus. It targeted your brain. We have tried thirteen separate procedures to remove it without damaging your brain, with no success. The fourteenth was the luckiest, and the most risky, but it worked. We had to do it because high command forced us to."
"Why?" said Prancort.
"You’ll soon find out."
Star System Dalon, Core of the Viron Empire
Fleet Base Aquaria, Synchorbit around Dalon's World
Command and Control Complex, Debriefing Room 1A
It would be the first time Prancort wore a fleet uniform in months. Of course, to him, time had no meaning while he’d been poisoned and unconscious.
"I see." He folded his hands together. "So Admiral Prion has left to fight the first snake fleet invading our center borders and, additionally, the snakes have invaded through our side border, near the galactic periphery using a second fleet?"
"Yes, sir."
"When will we hear about the results from Admiral Prion's battle?"
Rear Admiral Wilks, a stubby man with white hair, replied, "Sir, we still do not yet know if she has fought. Her messenger ships have yet to reach us. However, in her last transmission, she believed the snakes were invading a star system called Hephaestus and she said she was intervening."
"I see," Prancort pondered. "Hephaestus...that's right near our center border."
Silence filled the table. All eight of the highest-ranking flag officers in the republic waited on Prancort's next words.
"Alright, time to head to business and deal with the current threat," Prancort stated, "Admiral Wilks, tell me of the composition of this second snake fleet that's invading from the periphery."
The aged Admiral Wilks spoke, again, "From the records collected by a defense outpost orbiting Kolonides II, we believe the snakes have eight battleships and nine missile carriers and four fighter-interceptor carriers."
Prancort gasped. His eyeballs bulged.
The table fell silent as each flag officer allowed Prancort enough time for the bad news to sink in.
"How did the snakes get such a high production advantage? How are they able to create so many new vessels?"
"We don't know," said Rear Admiral Wilks. "It can be assumed that they always had it. They do have more star systems in their territory than us, after all. They probably have more production capacity."
"...Which means that even if we defeat both invasions, they'll just send another wave at us," Prancort paused to think. "Ok, first things first, we must defeat this new second invasion from the periphery at all costs. We must not allow them to damage our production chain and make thei
r production advantage even greater."
"How will we do that, sir?" asked a young commodore at the table.
Prancort winced. "I do not yet know." So many unknowns. So many! Prancort glanced at the logistics commander to his left, a commodore named Bresly. "Well, we can't do anything to aid Admiral Prion. Whatever happened has happened. But we can fend off this new second invasion. What assets do we know, commodore? How many available warships, missiles and fighters can we scramble to meet this new threat?"
To his left, Commodore Bresly rose to answer Prancort's question, "Sir, according to latest reports, we are still repairing two warships in stardock. The Asterix and the Dayhall are not fully ready, but they can be scrambled into battle with only a portion of propulsion, shield, and lasers operational. Besides the Asterix and the Dayhall, we have only one other battleship fully operational, because it has just left stardocks, the Pelican."
"And our other assets? Go on," Prancort urged.
"In terms of fighter assets, we have five new squadrons of pilots fresh from training school, amounting to 300 new pilots. We have enough Mark Nine fighters produced to equip each of the 300 pilots. In terms of missiles, our orbital nano-factories have produced 1600 new missiles since Prion's fleet sortied out to meet the first invasion, but we have no missile ships to carry them. All our missile carriers sortied out with Admiral Prion to fight off the snakes' first invasion fleet."
Drats! Prancort blinked. "So, we can utilize no missiles, because we have no transports." Prancort removed his cap and scratched his head. Touché, snake commander. Send one fleet through our obvious center to divert our attention and distract our forces, and send another fleet from the side to kill our production chain. A by-the-book strategy at work. He had to give credit to the snake commander, again. "What about civilian freighters? Can we outfit civilian freighters to carry our missiles?"
"Commandeering civilian freighters?" Commodore Bresly responded, "That's never been done before."
"I'm sure we can persuade the civilian owners into loaning us their freighters for national security. If we lose, their freighters won't be of much use. We can also sign a contract saying if the freighters are lost, we'll reimburse them."
"Sir, this is unprecedented," Bresly debated.
"But can it be done?" Prancort continued on.
A pause. "I suppose it can," agreed Commodore Bresly.
"Make it so," said Prancort. "We need them to FTL carry our missiles into battle."
"It will largely depend on how we alter the freighters into carrying our missiles and missile launchers. It could take some time," Bresly advised.
"Please get it done as quickly as possible." Prancort folded his hands together. "Those freighters could mean the difference between defeat and victory. Missiles alter the strategic and tactical situation immensely."
A silence.
The commodore tapped notes onto a computer screen.
Prancort addressed his staff, "So, we have three battleships, 300 fighters, and 1600 missiles against the new snake invasion force of eight battleships, about 3000 fighters, and…" Prancort gulped. "A hell of a lot more missiles. That's quite a disadvantage. At least as long as the battle near Hephaestus doesn't fall heavily against us, we won't have to worry about the first snake fleet there. What is the Pelican?"
"Sir?" Bresly replied.
"What battleship class is it?"
"A light-cruiser, sir," said Commodore Bresly.
Great. Prancort sighed. "It will have to do. If we cannot defeat the second invasion fleet, we can at least distract them, so they make the least damage to our production chain. If anyone has good ideas, please share with the table, immediately." Prancort looked around him. No one said a word. He felt like he stared at defeat in the face.
Shaking his head, he knew he shouldn't be thinking like this. They were looking at him for support and reassurance. "Well, no one? Ok, let's take a break, people. Meanwhile, I'll transfer my flag to the Asterix. Captain Shenks, please inform the CO of the Asterix that I'll be transferring my flag to his ship. We'll have another video conference at 1230 hours. Then, we'll sortie out at 1500, worst case. Dismissed, everyone."
Star System Dalon, Core of the Viron Empire
Orbital Stardock Prometheus II, Synchorbit, Dalon's World
Juggernaut Class Battleship Asterix
Flag Bridge, 1200 Hours
"Admiral on deck!"
The newly refitted bridge of the Asterix looked like semicircle. The captain's chair held the center, surrounded in front by the weapons and helm stations. Damage control sat to the right. Weapons to the left. Ops behind. The organic captain's chair, which was typically the center of all attention, looked newly minted, with black pads of nano fiber and floating holographic displays on each armrest. Men and women operated each station, all of whom, at this very moment, saluted Prancort.
Prancort returned the salute. "At ease. Return to your stations."
"Welcome to the bridge," a man who sat on the captain's chair approached.
Prancort eyes widened.
The man's robotic legs created a nearly silent whirring sound. "I don't believe we've met," said the captain of the Asterix.
"We've met many times," smiled Prancort. "Not physically, of course."
"Then, let me formally introduce myself. I'm Captain Donovan, Drake Donovan." Donovan reached out his metal hand, which Prancort shook. It felt cold, like steel. And the grip was tough, like a machine. "I suppose I should explain why over half of me is made of metal," said Donovan. "Most of it—actually, all of it—is because of you."
This turned some heads their way.
Prancort became suddenly aware that every officer—there sure were a lot of them—loyal to their captain, now paid attention to their conversation, although most acted like they didn't.
Prancort stiffened. What could he say to ease the situation? "I am sorry, but six hundred thousand people have also lost their lives because of me. That is the nature of war. Six hundred thousand have paid the ultimate price of sacrificing to their specie's well-being."
"Sacrifice?" scowled Donovan. "Do you call the act of bending to your every wish and whim an act of sacrifice to the greater good?"
Prancort could feel the malicious mood in the room. It sounded like a confrontation. Prancort realized he just walked into a trap. But he is the admiral, damn it! While the fellow in front of him with robotic legs was a captain! "No, but I try to fight for the greater good," Prancort countered.
"Do you?"
Prancort's eyes widened. "Captain Donovan, am I right in assuming you are questioning my capabilities or just my intentions?"
The tension in the room felt intense. Some of the lower-ranking officers looked perplexed at their superior and at their superior's superior.
Prancort stared straight at Donovan's eyes, almost sensing his subordinate's thoughts. He knew the captain carefully considered what his next words would be—as what he said could very well lead to terrible consequences.
"No, sir," said Captain Donovan. "I am sorry, Admiral. Not many people you've met have lost as much as me. Some have lost their lives and thus, can never speak their mind, but I have lost my lower body and am plagued with the ability to speak my ill feelings. Please forgive my careless and rude manners."
"It's ok." Prancort lowered his shoulders. He could feel the tension in the room disappearing as every officer returned their attention to their posts.
"Thank you, sir. Not every day do I get to meet the man who in my mind is the direct cause of my current state!" Donovan walked close and whispered, "I will never be able to have children, again. My wife is afraid of me. She thinks I am a machine."
Prancort nodded. "I understand." Taking a step back, he pondered the situation. He felt for the man in front of him. Such is the consequences of war. Such are the losses. Here is a man who lost everything except his life. Yet here I stand, completely full with only a dull headache. I am very lucky. There are millions of people, both in the m
ilitary and as civilians, who are not. "Nevertheless, captain. Every officer must be willing to put their lives on the line to follow orders. It is out of necessity or else our chain of command falls apart. Sacrifice is what every officer must be willing to make. Although, I prefer there to be no losses, the war against a venomous enemy prevents that. You must remember that. Always."
"Well said, admiral. I will." Captain Donovan bowed. His metal servos emitting a slight whirring sound.
"Now, let's get to it. We have much to plan before our encounter with the second snake fleet."
Juggernaut Class Battleship Asterix
Main holographic conference room, 1230 Hours
Every admiral within ten light-hours jammed the conference room with their virtual presence. Through holoprojectors on the ceiling, the entire nation's high command staff virtual linked into a room the size of a mess hall.
Prancort knew everyone was here to tackle the problem of, how the stars could you defeat a snake fleet comprised of eight battleships and thirteen carriers with just what they had—three human battleships, one fighter carrier, and 1300 missiles with no means of FTL transport? "Everyone, I have an idea," he announced.
The group took a seat around the gigantic metal table. Soon, silenced pervaded the room.
With Prancort the only one standing. "But first, how goes the plan to convert civilian freighters to missile transports?"
Commodore Bresly stood up. "The imperial engineers say that it's a completely possible feat, but the time to refit each transport will depend on the transport, since not every commercial freighter is the same."
"How much time?" said Prancort.
"Each transport could be augmented within two days minimal to several weeks...using nanotechnology, of course."
"That's the Imperial Engineering Department's official statement?"
"Yes," said Bresly.
Prancort closed his eyes, calculating how much time he needed to delay the snake fleet, before he could lay the perfect trap... using the retrofitted freighters loaded with missiles. "How long will it take to retrofit 50% of the needed two hundred freighters?"