Even now, they appear tiny. But they must be immense in size.
Compared to what I’ve seen with only the blackout sunglasses in the sky of Atlantis, and this close view halfway across the system (from the vantage point of Rah Station in orbit around the innermost planet Rah) I still see very little difference. Except that—maybe these objects appear more defined as spheres of golden light as opposed to just shapeless “blots.”
While I ponder this, Aeson continues in a firm tone, speaking in measured phrases that already resemble formal statements. It’s as though he’s anticipating having to explain this many more times to various groups of people.
“Meanwhile, we must contend with the public’s anticipated terrible reaction. We have to take control of the news delivery, to lessen the natural fear. All new developments must be presented carefully, to minimize the alarming implications and to project calm—which is technically the truth, since no real threat from those alien light objects has yet manifested, nor has their nature been confirmed. . . . In short—so much to deal with, including my Father—with whom I’ve just talked, and who’s presently raving in panic.”
“Oh, no . . .” I breathe.
“He’s convinced that the broadcasting ancient ark-ship components, the Grail and the Ra Disk, together with the Ghost Moon, are entirely at fault for bringing the alien enemy to us.”
I feel a terrible jolt of emotion in my chest. “If that’s the case then—all of it is my fault. So, he must blame me.”
Aeson frowns and his gaze sharpens with intensity as he looks at me. “Gwen, don’t. Do not put this on yourself. It was brewing already, and it was bound to happen regardless, sooner or later. If anything, my Father himself set this in motion—in part when he pushed you into the Games, setting off this particular chain of events—and even long before that.”
I wince slightly even as I respond to his protective words with a smile.
“As I was saying, in addition to the global SPC forces, we have the IF Commander Resoi and our Imperial Fleet personnel and the other world leaders with their own national defense resources—”
Aeson pauses to check the flashing band of his wrist comm, then glances at Ker and Xel, and back at me. “I’ll explain more when I get back. The next few hours and days are going to be critical. Right now, I’m about to head out to the emergency meeting of the IEC, after which, depending on the outcome, I’ll need to make a flight to the SPC Headquarters to meet with my international SPC Command Pilots—”
“Is that in Atlantis orbit?” I ask.
He nods.
I sigh. “Okay, go. Please, be careful!”
Aeson smiles at me, a quick, energetic smile, giving me a jolt of positivity. “Stay strong for me, amrevu. I’ll see you tonight, and will have much more insight into this situation at that point. Meanwhile—daimon, you all have your assignments.”
Keruvat nods, taking the seat liberated by Xelio—who gets up and formally salutes Aeson.
“Saret-i-xerera!” Xel gives an additional verbal salute which I’ve not heard used before in the Fleet, though I do remember it being a part of the anthem sung during the Champion Citizenship Ceremony, right after our Oath of Loyalty to Atlantida. “Heading to the SPC HQ at once. But first—while you deal with the IEC, I’m going to take a quick reconnaissance flight myself, then meet you at Headquarters. Oalla, Erita, you coming?”
Erita nods. “Scheduled to fly now. Time to get out of these shiny clothes and put on the uniforms.”
Oalla makes a mocking pout and points to her fiery outfit. “Aww, must we? This cosmic, world-ending, impending war thing is just no fun if it starts interfering with my style. I hereby officially dislike it.”
“Yes, a complete setback to fashion,” Xelio remarks, tapping data on his wrist comm.
“Give it time,” Aeson says with a raised brow, as he picks up key cards and checks equipment on his desk before heading out. “It will grow on you.”
“Like a big-ass wart. . . .” Anu adds from under his breath, pushing a monitor on a swinging arm out of Aeson’s way.
I watch Aeson and the others move around the room while exchanging exaggerated words and glances, and recognize the underlying current of despair beneath their banter. Keruvat is the only one staying to analyze the incoming data while they are away.
“Is there anything I can do?” I say, feeling useless. It reminds me of my early Games training when everyone around me did so much on my behalf and I just stood there, taking it all in, before I could function in any constructive way on my own.
“Stay calm and hopeful,” Oalla says with a wink. And she glances in Aeson’s direction, then meaningfully looks back at me.
I can almost hear her unspoken ending to the sentence.
Stay calm and hopeful for him.
Chapter 37
One final wistful glance in my direction, one brisk smile, and Aeson is gone. Xel, Erita, and Oalla follow him out of the room.
I stand frowning, petrified with uselessness, and for a moment simply watch as Keruvat returns to working the screens, together with Anu and Gennio. This time there are so many data feeds, it’s incomprehensible—brief flashes of what must be Rah Station data, some familiar mini-screens of the Ghost Moon still being tracked in other windows, scrolling rows of numbers and still images, video capture feeds, and views of other deep space vantage points—which I’m guessing are other Hel system stations—and their corresponding data.
“Here, Gwen,” Ker says, glancing at me briefly. “Have a seat and watch, if you like. It’s going to be a long afternoon and night.”
“I won’t be in the way? Okay,” I say, taking a seat next to him at the desk. “If it’s all right, may I ask about this Rah Station view?”
“Sure,” Ker says. “Feel free to ask anything. At this point we don’t have much new data to go on, only what you see live from Rah Station. The Pilots there have been instructed to stay put—not to attempt to do any flybys, which could potentially trip the aliens’ proximity barriers on approach and activate the threat. For now, we’re all just looking, watching closely. The image is from the main station cameras. There are additional views we can switch to from orbiting satellite buoys, but they are at the same distance.”
“Okay.” I nod. “So, how big is the Rah Station? I mean, both size and personnel.”
Anu stares at me from the other desk. “Hey, want me to show you? I can flip a buoy camera onto the station itself so you can see it.”
I get up and walk over to look at Anu’s screens. He enters some code and then enlarges a window. Suddenly I see a hemispheric view of the planet Rah, a desolate black-grey ball of scorched rock which I’m told is about twice larger than Earth’s Mercury. Floating before it is a gleaming metallic 3D object shaped like a cross, rotating slowly on its central axis.
“Oh, wow. . . .” I peer closer and now I can see that there is some kind of central hub, a sphere in the middle of the X shape, with tiny dots of lights indicating viewports. But this particular view is head-on, and as the station slowly moves relative to the buoy camera, the sphere turns out to be a long cylinder.
Meanwhile, the four arms of the cross—also dotted with viewport lights along the edges—are in fact flat platforms extending outward from the cylinder hub. On both sides of each arm platform I see endless numbers of small shuttle-like ships parked in close rows. They are like space barnacles attached to the main body.
“Two thousand micro-ships capacity,” Anu says, answering my unspoken question. “And the station has six thousand personnel capacity—like the Imperial Fleet ark-ships. Of course, it’s nothing in size, compared to a battle barge.”
“A what?” I say.
“Battle barge!” Anu snorts. “You don’t know?”
“Obviously I don’t or I wouldn’t be asking.” I snort back at him.
Ker gives us a tiny amused glance.
Gennio meanwhile sighs and rolls his eyes at Anu. “Imperial Lady Gwen is unfamiliar with SPC Flee
t structure.”
“Why don’t you both tell her about it,” Ker says mildly. “The SPC Fleet is different from the Imperial Fleet. She needs to know about the differences, starting with the vessels.”
“Of course,” Gennio says.
“Yeah, sure,” Anu echoes him.
“Great,” I say. “So—battle barge?”
“A battle barge is the biggest warship class in the SPC Fleet,” Gennio begins explaining in his usual patient, detail-oriented manner. “It is the equivalent of four ark-ships—24,000 personnel capacity—and four times bigger in size because it has to transport hundreds of other warships inside, in addition to personnel.”
“Yeah,” Anu adds. “And those other warships, carried like babies inside a battle barge, can be large sebasarets—which in turn are filled with mid-range transport depets like velo-cruisers, small fighters, and everything else you can imagine.”
I recall that depet is a generic Atlanteo word for “boat.” I also get a sudden mental image of starships designed like Russian nesting dolls. . . . I think they’re called Matryoshka dolls. Then I force the nonsense thought away and get my ridiculous brain back on track.
“Okay, fascinating. I had no idea you had ships larger than ark-ships.”
“Oh, yes,” Gennio says. “They are giant ships, and we only have ten of them. The battle barges are all called War, and numbered War-1 through War-10. Whichever battle barge happens to be carrying the SPC Fleet Commander on board gets the temporary designation of Depet-Ra.”
“Until he gets off, then that battle barge is again simply called a War,” Anu says.
I nod and try to keep up with this information. “Kind of like Air Force One,” I mutter, thinking of the term for the airplane carrying the President of the United States on Earth.
Anu and Gennio both give me initially clueless looks, then appear to recall whatever they learned about Earth’s military. “Yes, that’s right,” Gennio says. “Anyway, the ten battle barges are evenly distributed throughout the solar system and, in times of peace, are manned with a skeleton crew. War-1 and War-2 are stationed in deep space, very far away on the outer edges of the heliosphere, beyond Atlas. They are our finest ships and serve as the first line of defense as you enter Hel’s system.”
“Then you have War-3 and War-4, also fine ships, stationed near Olympos,” Anu says. “Then, two more around Atlantis, right here in deep space beyond Amrevet’s orbit—that’s our local War-5 and War-6.”
“Right,” Gennio continues. “Then, once you keep going inward past Atlantis, the remaining planets only get one battle barge each, since we expect less danger from the system interior.”
Keruvat makes a sarcastic sound. “Looks like we got it all wrong,” he says suddenly, glancing up from his work. “We now have the bulk of our best military force on the opposite edge of the system. Meanwhile, in descending prestige order and distance to Hel, Ishtar has War-7, Tammuz has War-8, Septu has War-9, and lonely Rah has War-10 which is ranked as the least distinguished of the ten vessels. . . . Unfortunate planning, Atlantis. But then, no one expected tiny Rah Station with its newbie or leftover staffed War-10 to be in danger before the rest of us.” And he laughs bitterly, shaking his head, then returns his attention to the screen.
I bite my lip thoughtfully and glance back at Gennio and Anu. “So you were saying the Rah Station is small—smaller than a battle barge. . . .”
Gennio nods. “The Rah Station is the smallest of the outposts. The biggest station is in orbit around Ishtar.”
“Aha.” I nod slowly. “Are there space stations around each of the planets?”
“Yes,” Anu says. “One orbital station per planet.”
“What about on the surface?”
“Too expensive to build,” Gennio explains. “You can simply launch parts and assemble in orbit and don’t have to deal with planetary weather, gravity, or other surface anomalies. All the other interior planets are dead rocks anyway. We go down to mine some of them for resources for replacement parts, but that’s about it.”
“I see.” I pause, digesting all of this, while Anu and Gennio periodically glance back at their work screens, but remain ready to accommodate my questions. “Okay. . . So, what kind of other military ships are in the SPC Fleet besides these huge battle barges? I’ve heard about sebasarets, which are smaller than ark-ships and can also hold other smaller ships—which are, what? Solo shuttles?”
“You are asking about Fleet vessel hierarchy, but confusing military and civilian vessels,” Anu says in a superior tone. “A shuttle—the kind you learned to pilot, the same ones we had on the ark-ships—is a civilian vessel. The larger transport shuttles too—all civilian. They have some minor weapons capacity, but it’s not their primary function.”
“Oh, really?” I say, thinking back on my Pilot Class. “So they only taught us how to fly the civilian shuttles. . . .”
“Yes and no,” Gennio puts in. “In principle, they all basically work the same way for flight, only the weapons systems are more complicated in the military fighter ships.”
I tense my forehead.
“So, knowing how to pilot a shuttle, you can pilot a mafdet, an ardukat, a khepri, or even an ankhurat without much difficulty,” Anu says. “Those are the fighters.”
“Should I be taking notes?” I sigh. This is sounding more and more complicated.
“Oh no, that wouldn’t be necessary. Don’t worry, Imperial Lady Gwen, it’s all easily referenced in the SPC knowledge bases,” Gennio says at once, taking me literally.
“Tell her about each ship type,” Keruvat says without looking up from his screens. “Make it brief.”
“Of course,” Gennio replies. “The mafdet is the solo fighter, the lightest, smallest, fastest, and most agile for air-to-air combat. Only the most experienced Pilots are permitted to fly those.”
“Two guns, firing capability front and back, uses fine focused plasma bursts for strafing.” Anu adds. “The mafdet is known as the Needle of Justice.”
“Now, the ardukat is a two-person fighter,” Gennio continues. “You have a Pilot and Co-Pilot working together, exactly as you learned to fly in your Cadet Pilot Classes. Four guns on board, both fine-focus burst and wide scatter-burst firing capability.”
“That’s the most common type of fighter in the SPC Fleet,” Anu says. “Most everyone gets assigned to fly the ardukats, it’s basic all-purpose warfare.”
“Okay,” I say.
“Next, there is the khepri, which is larger, a four-Pilot team fighter,” Gennio says. “Also has four guns, but uses heavy-caliber artillery, able to eject plasma at a higher density from multiple thick nozzles in each gun. In addition, it’s equipped with four guided missiles and armed probes. The khepri is an attack bomber for major targets.”
I nod.
“Finally, the ankhurat is the biggest, heaviest fighter. One hundred personnel crew plus six Pilots, intended for boarding other vessels, plus six heavy-caliber plasma guns and ten missiles.”
“Yeah, the ankhurat is nicknamed Ankh, the Life Giver,” Anu says with a smirk.
I raise one brow at him.
“So, these are the four standard kinds of fighter ships used in military combat,” Gennio concludes. “There are a few others but mostly experimental models in development, and not really important now.”
“Wow,” I ask, trying to wrap my mind around all of this material. “What about the sebasarets?”
“Not considered fighters,” Anu replies. “They are command ship carriers for ranking officers, military personnel and other vessels. So, can be used as transports and command centers. They do have weapons capability, but no guns, only guided missiles.”
“Right,” Gennio says. “You can fit different combinations of fighter ships inside each sebasaret fighter bay. The bay is designed to hold four ankhurats. Or two ankhurats and four khepri. Or four khepri and eight ardukats. Or eight ardukats and twelve mafdets. Gives you an idea of their relative sizes. Meanwhile,
a civilian velo-cruiser is halfway between an ankhurat and a khepri in size, while a standard 7-seat civilian shuttle is slightly larger than an ardukat. However, a civilian solo shuttle and a mafdet are about the same size. Oh, and want to hear something crazy? One hundred sebasarets can fit inside one battle barge.”
“I see. . . . This is going to take me a while to digest.” I shake my head, definitely overwhelmed. Normally I’m a quick learner, but for some reason this military tech jargon is hurting my head. . . .
I don’t get it, and I don’t want to get it.
At the same time, a slow gnawing pain is starting to wrench my gut. Distress and unease and unspeakable worry all crowd together to fill and crush me, as I think of all the devastating implications of military action.
The machinery of war.
And my Aeson is at the heart of it. . . .
He is the Commander of this immense military hierarchy. These fighters and command ship carriers and giant battle barges. . . . Hundreds of thousands of personnel. . . . They all report to him. It is somehow inconceivable.
Immersed in heavy thoughts, I space out for many long minutes while the others let me be and continue to work at their screens or check their wrist comms. The afternoon grows long as I watch over their shoulders, asking questions occasionally.
All this time I think about Aeson, wondering where he is at each given moment as he deals with everything—he must be meeting with the Council, or maybe he’s already flying up to the SPC Headquarters in orbit, meeting more people, discussing, issuing orders, worrying, consumed. . . .
Keruvat continues to focus on the main screen view of Helios the star, and the alien golden lights scattered around it. They look so pretty, so harmless, it occurs to me. Pretty little fireflies of gold.
At some point he stops scrolling the secondary screens and pays unrelenting, close attention to the view of blazing Hel. “Okay, this is different,” he says to us, tapping the view with one finger.
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