by Eric Nylund
COLE: Sir, no. Nothing . . . unusual.
[Captain Gilliam, Mr. Welker, and Colonel Lima confer among themselves.]
[Cole remains standing at attention.]
GILLIAM: If you are trying to protect a fellow cadet through some sense of camaraderie or honor—it is misplaced. Do not throw away your otherwise sterling service record to protect someone who, to be blunt, does not deserve to be an officer.
[At this time, Admiral Konrad Volkov enters the room and sits.]
[Cole faces the tribunal and cannot possibly see the admiral, but nonetheless stands straighter and begins to sweat.]
COLE: Sir, what kind of officer would I make if I said what you wanted me to say just to avoid trouble—regardless of whether it is the truth or not? Or if I guessed at any wrong-doing to make myself look better? I will not do such a thing.
LIMA: Crewman Cole, you are in contempt of this Board of Inquiry. I’ll deal with you later.
[(Colonel Lima motions for the court guards. The guards move to escort Cole).]
[Cole salutes the presiding officers, turns, makes direct eye contact with Admiral Volkov, and is marched from the tribunal chamber.]
Certificate of Marriage
The State of Mare Nubium County of Newton
To any Judge, Justice of the Peace, or Minister:
You are hereby authorized to join:
Preston Jeremiah Cole, age 21, and Inna Volkov, age XX
In the Holy State of Matrimony according to the Constitution of Luna Confederated States and for so doing shall be your License. And you are hereby required to return this License to me with your Certificate herein of the fact and date of Marriage within thirty days after said Marriage.
Given under my hand and seal this 17 August, 2492.
Quinn Lloyd (Licensing Officer, Newton County), Ordinary.
CERTIFICATE
I Certify that Preston Jeremiah Cole and Inna Volkov were joined in Matrimony by me this Seventeenth day of August, Two Thousand Four Hundred Ninety-Two.
Recorded 21 August, 2492.
In presence of Witnesses:
Michael H. Cole
Admiral Konrad Volkov
Behold by my hand and with my seal, Harold Yates, Ordinary.
Certificate of Live Birth
The State of Mare Nubium Department of Health
Certificate No: 4216
Child’s Name: Ivan Troy Cole
Date of Birth: December 12, 2492 Hour of Birth 0445
Sex: Male
City, Rural Plot, or Station of Birth: Azimov Center
County of Birth: Newton
Mother’s Maiden Name: Inna Volkov
$$$$$$
Mother’s DNA Trace: SUY-OOU-WYED
Father’s Name: Preston Jeremiah Cole
Father’s DNA Trace: SUY-OOU-WYED
Date Filed by Registrar: December 16, 2492
This copy serves as prima facie evidence of the fact of birth in any court proceeding {HRS 550-45(b)}
ANY ALTERATIONS INVALIDATE THIS CERTIFICATE
ANALYSIS
* * *
Colonel Lima dropped his charges of contempt and obstructing the tribunal’s investigation against Preston Cole two days after the inconclusive hearing.
The record shows Cole married Admiral Volkov’s daughter, indicating (at first glance) that he was the cadet who had the illicit liaison.
But why would Admiral Volkov allow such a cadet to marry his daughter instead of having him summarily thrown out an airlock?
DNA analysis of Ivan Volkov (done at the request of the admiralty and codeword classified: NIGHTINGALE) provides incontrovertible evidence that he was not Preston Cole’s son.
There are three possible explanations for these facts.
1. The admiral knew which cadet was the true father and didn’t like what he saw. He found a suitable replacement for his daughter: a cadet who would stand up for his principles even if that meant going to jail.
2. The child’s DNA did not match any suspected cadets or other military personnel (civilians transferring to and from Luna were not required to provide DNA samples in their CMA screenings). This would have left the admiral’s grandchild still fatherless.
3. Cole was indeed the cadet who had the liaison with the admiral’s daughter, but not the father of her child.
Many questions, however, central to understanding Cole remain unanswered. Did Admiral Volkov make him marry his daughter or did Cole—compelled by a sense of chivalry—offer to marry the disgraced young lady and provide a father for her unborn child?
Cole’s admirers would say that he stepped up and did the noble thing: a young man with a sense of honor and morality (regardless of any possible indiscretions).
Cole’s detractors, though, would claim this incident highlights his strategic and opportunistic nature: a cunning junior officer currying favor with the admiral at his most vulnerable moment, which would result in rapid promotion and assignment to choice (if remote) postings.
Or could it have been a little of both?
Whatever the reasons, Cole remained married to Inna for many years thereafter, fathering two more sons and one daughter (DNA analysis proves these were his), and he remained a loving father to all four children, writing to them often, and providing birthday gifts and support to them for the rest of his life.
After a two-week honeymoon, Cole was reassigned for duties in the Outer Colonies aboard the UNSC destroyer Las Vegas.
SECTION FOUR: THE OUTER COLONY INSURGENCY:
THE CALLISTO INCIDENT (2494 CE)
* * *
For decades prior to the end of the Colonial era (c. 2490 CE) Earth-based military forces had focused on colonization logistics, settling minor trade disputes, and perhaps chasing off the odd pirate. UNSC officers had studied how to engage in glorious, large-scale (but as yet hypothetical) battles against enemy states—not how to cope with an emboldened insurgency that could hide in the very populations they were sworn to protect.
One event in particular (among a dozen similar incidents in the Outer Colonies), the Callisto Incident would shape Preston Cole’s early career.
The distant colony Levosia had been suspected of diverting refined selenium and technetium (used in the manufacture of FTL drives), which would yield huge profits on the black market.
Apart from lost taxes, however, Earth realized it could not allow insurgent forces access to FTL engine components. Therefore, Central Command (CENTCOM) ordered the Navy to blockade and search all ships in the system for suspected contraband.
The UNSC corvette Callisto stopped and boarded a trading vessel. The merchant crew was skittish due to rumors of impressments during similar searches in the Outer Colonies (a rumor started, we suspect, by insurgent sympathizers). A weapon was drawn and shots exchanged, resulting in the death of three naval officers and twenty-seven merchant crewmen.
No contraband was discovered.
This sparked outrage throughout the system. Thirty-seven days later, the Callisto ordered a similar merchant vessel to stand to and be searched. The merchant ship allowed the officers to board with all due courtesies. When the officers entered the cargo bay, they found it empty. The bay doors opened and the officers were blasted into space. The merchant crew then swarmed into the unsuspecting Callisto and murdered the remainder of the its crew.
The Callisto was taken and its computer system gutted and replaced.
The insurgency was now armed.
In response, a UNSC battle group of three light destroyers was sent to hunt down the Callisto. They had weapons that had never been fired in conflict, nor had her crews engaged in any battle.
Leading the battle group was the UNSC destroyer Las Vegas under Captain Harold Lewis, with a new assistant navigation officer fresh out of Luna OCS, Second Lieutenant Preston J. Cole.
0315 HOURS, MARCH 2, 2494 (MILITARY CALENDAR) UNSC
DESTROYER LAS VEGAS PATROLLING 26 DRACONIS SYSTEM
BRIDGE LOG OF THE UNSC LAS VEGAS (PRI
MARY, VIDEO,
SPATIAL ENHANCEMENTS=TRUE)
The bridge of the UNSC Las Vegas was a narrow oval of nav, ops, engineering, comm, and weapons stations. Green and blue icons winked on and off, illuminating the faces of the officers, while the shadows around them were full of the red glow of battle station lights.
Captain Lewis sat on the edge of his seat, nervously scraping his thumbnail. The first mate, Commander Rinkishale, stood near, her cap snug on her head, and lines of concern crisscrossing her face.
“Update on target vector,” Captain Lewis said.
“Still decelerating, sir,” Second Lieutenant Cole answered. His close-cropped hair spiked up with stubborn cowlicks. His gaze was cold iron and only the faintest lines creased the corners of his eyes as he squinted at the screen. Without looking away, he tapped in a double-check calculation of what the nav computer displayed. “Enemy on a direct course into the asteroid field.”
“We have to engage before they get in,” Commander Rinkishale told the captain. “We’ll be able to maneuver around a few rocks, but too far into that field . . .”
“And they’ll be able to play cat and mouse with us,” the captain replied. He tapped in a message on his secure comm to the destroyers in his battle group.
Immediate replies scrolled across his screen.
“The Jericho and Buenos Aires concur,” Captain Lewis said. “So we go hunting. Set course to intercept the Callisto,” he ordered Lieutenant Cole. “Flank speed.”
“Answering 030 by 270, sir,” Cole said.
“Reactor answering one hundred percent,” Lieutenant Taylor replied.
The Las Vegas accelerated and the bridge crew crunched in their padded seats as the Callisto grew on the central view screen.
“She’s slowing, sir,” Cole announced.
“Because they have to navigate through the field,” the captain muttered. “What in God’s name do they think they’re doing?” He turned to the weapons station and Lieutenant Jorgenson. “Range?”
“In twenty seconds, sir,” Lieutenant Jorgenson replied. “Firing solutions online for Ares missile system. The target might bank around that larger asteroid at the edge of belt, but we have a lock. The missile tracking systems can steer around.”
“In twenty, then,” Captain Lewis said and started scraping his thumbnail again. “Coordinate firing solutions with the Jericho and Buenos Aires, and allow computer control to fire at will—silos one through six.”
Cole shot a quick glance at Lieutenant Jorgenson, who looked back at him and gave an almost imperceptible shake of her head.
“Arming silos one through six, aye,” Jorgenson replied. She opened the button covers and flipped off the safety mechanisms for six of the seven banks of missiles in the Las Vegas’s arsenal. She activated the automated control systems. Green acknowledgment lights winked across the board.
“They’re a sitting duck,” Captain Lewis said with great satisfaction.
Cole stared at the automated control system, the lines about the corners of his eyes deepened, and he frowned.
EXTERNAL CAMERA 6-K, UNSC DESTROYER JERICHO / 0317.235
HOURS MARCH 2, 2494 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
Eighteen Ares missiles streaked silent through space, leaving feathered plumes of gray smoke behind. For twenty seconds they remained on course tracking the Callisto. The enemy vessel moved on a vector directly aligned with an asteroid the size of Manhattan.
The Callisto then rolled, her engine cones flaring white hot, as she executed a slingshot orbit to the far side of the cratered rock.
The missiles split their unified trajectories, each one independently optimizing the best targeting solution, and left eighteen smoky trails that looked like giant fingers reaching out into the dark . . . as if clutching the asteroid.
They never hit.
For the blink of an eye a new sun appeared in the 26 Draconis system.
A wash of white filled the screen . . . which coalesced to a boiling center of ultraviolet.
A nuclear device had been buried in the asteroid, facing outward. It blasted the rock apart, vaporized and shattered iron and ice, and spewed forth a shower of molten metal and plasma—a tide of destruction that rushed into the UNSC battle group.
It hit the Buenos Aires, which had been leading the charge. Her antennae and MAC trajectory sensors boiled away . . . as the cloud enveloped her in seething energies . . . from which she did not emerge.
A chuck of spinning rock hit the Las Vegas—a glancing blow, but enough to crumple her side and bend the ship’s hull twenty degrees—she careened backward, venting atmosphere from a dozen ruptured decks.
A cloud of tiny molten fragments hit the Jericho—eventually killing all forward momentum, until she spun slowly backward in space, lights winking on and off.
Camera 6-K spun as well—but in the distance still tracked the prow of the Callisto—unscathed as it angled out of the plane of the asteroid field, and turned toward them.
A chunk of iron-silicate rock appeared for a split second in the field of view—moving directly into camera 6-K.
Static.
EXTERNAL CAMERA 6-K FEED TERMINATED
0329 HOURS MARCH 2, 2494 (MILITARY CALENDAR) UNSC
DESTROYER LAS VEGAS PATROLLING 26 DRACONIS SYSTEM
BRIDGE LOG (PRIMARY, VIDEO, SPATIAL ENHANCEMENTS=TRUE)
Shards of shatterproof plastic tumbled through the air on the bridge. Captain Lewis, tethered to his chair, hung, arms limp. One emergency light burned and tinged everything bloodred. Commander Rinkishale’s body twisted at unnatural angles, floating, and in the strange light looked like an insect trapped in amber during its death throes.
The only stations active were nav, comm, and one winking panel on the otherwise static-filled weapons station.
Second Lieutenant Cole remained at his station, belted in to his seat, his legs wrapped around the pedestal for good measure. His hands flew over the nav controls, checking and rechecking.
“Buenos Aires destroyed, sir,” Cole reported, his voice cracking. “I’m reading a debris field along her last reported vector. There’s too much radiation . . . but I think the Jericho has come about to engage the Callisto. Reading multiple missile locks. I’m not sure from whom.”
Second Lieutenant Cole waited for his orders.
And he waited.
He then turned and looked . . . and saw his dead captain and commander . . . and the rest of the motionless bridge crew.
He unbuckled himself and moved to each checking for vitals—finding only Lieutenant Jorgenson still breathing, and quickly tying a tourniquet above her bleeding calf.
He tapped the comm station, cleared his voice, and said, “Any medical personnel, any fire teams on decks four, five, or six—report to the bridge.” He looked about once more, taking the carnage in, and then added, “Any crewmen who can get up here, do so immediately.”
From the flickering weapons station a shrill alarm sounded, confirming missile lock on the Las Vegas.
Cole yelled into the comm, “All hands brace for impact! All crew brace—”
The bridge shuddered.
For a split second the air condensed into fog, then explosive decompression blasted out the atmosphere.
BRIDGE LOG OF THE UNSC LAS VEGAS (PRIMARY, VIDEO,
SPATIAL ENHANCEMENTS = TRUE) / TERMINATED
0332.091
0348 HOURS MARCH 2, 2494 (MILITARY CALENDAR) UNSC
DESTROYER LAS VEGAS PATROLLING 26 DRACONIS SYSTEM
CAPTAIN’S LOG (AUDIO)
{TRANSFER CONTROL CODES ENABLED PER MIL JAG
ORDER TR-19428-P}
Captain Lewis and Commander Rinkishale are dead. The rest of the bridge crew are either incapacitated or dead.
I, Second Lieutenant Cole, Preston J. (UNSC Service Number: 00814-13094-BQ), do hereby assume command of the UNSC destroyer Las Vegas and responsibility for the actions detailed henceforth.
Emergency bulkheads are in place on the bridge and the additional br
eaches on decks one through eight and eleven through fourteen have been contained. Decks sixteen and seventeen remain evacuated and cannot be repaired.
The Shaw-Fujikawa drive is offline. Primary and secondary reactors are offline. There was a major spike in the primary system. Radiation containment protocols are in effect.
We are dead in space.
I have been trained to follow the rules and regulations and enforce our laws.
And even when I broke those rules—it has been to uphold a higher honor.
Now I am faced with a choice: Break those rules, discard honor, or lose. No—this has nothing to do with winning or losing. I must break the rules and my honor or die. Or all the crew will die.
With so many lives at stake, I have no choice.
I have ordered our missile silos’ doors shut.
I have signaled our unconditional surrender to the insurgent-controlled ship Callisto and requested immediate aid for our wounded.
They won’t be able to resist the prize of a UNSC destroyer. They won’t fire. They’ll answer the distress signal.
END ENTRY CAPTAIN’S LOG UNSC LAS VEGAS
EXTERNAL CAMERA A-4, UNSC DESTROYER LAS VEGAS
0406.335 HOURS MARCH 2, 2494 (MILITARY CALENDAR)
Callisto’s prow approached the port side of Las Vegas and slowed to a full stop five kilometers away—with her missile silo doors open.
After three full minutes Callisto moved closer and turned so that the two ships were abeam: Cargo Bay 5 on the port side of the Las Vegas aligned with Cargo Bay 3 on the starboard side of Callisto.
Robotic tethers reached from Callisto, groping over the crumpled armor of the Las Vegas, until they found purchase.
The arms pulled the Las Vegas within a few meters. A hard docking collar extended from the Callisto—large enough for three trucks side by side to roll across—and fitted to the side of the Las Vegas.
Orange safety lights strobed along the passage as the seal was established, the interior pressure equalized, and the links locked and checked.