Based on the Real Time Strategy video game license of Supreme Commander, created by Gas Powered Games. I do not own any rights over this license's use in public or in marketing. This is a fictional expansion on a universe with great potential of a rich lore. Future updates will come.
Enjoy
- StarOmega
Log 13: Final entree
Date: June the 18th, 30th Anniversary of the Colonial Defense Coalition
Time: 1601 hours,
#For Admiral eye's only
By the time this letter has been shipped to your adjutant, dear Admiral, I can only assume that news of the breach has come and gone through your well aged ears. If you're wanting a confession, an apologetic plea explaining a vast, complicated- out of this world kind of plot or scheme or whatever you and your analysts come up with... don't bother. The truth be told is really quite simple: I'm tired. Tired of it all. The pain, the suffering, the constant bickering of politicians over which alleged superpower should hold ownership over a certain region. Worse of all is the blood- I'm sick of it Admiral, sicken of its look, its foul odor as it clods up my nose; with the cold, rotten bodies passing by my office almost daily: rolled away from boarding shuttles at the break of dawn. What's even more hurtful is that, indirectly I helped create that bloodshed; cause after all- I engineered and created both the ACU mark II and ACU mark III series. I may not be the one pulling the trigger; but the armaments, the weapon systems, the destructive force behind the machines- that's all on me. It strains my conscious, knowing every morning when I wake up full heartily, that more people are either harmed or dead because I created a machine that became the perfect killing tool, rather than something to be used for peace. That's why the breach happened. I've lost faith in our mission, our goal for peace and stability. I was solemnly convinced that the CDC would be able to end this endless strife between the UEF, Cybran Nation and the Aeon Illuminate and bring peace to Humanity atlas. But turns out that peace means shit, with regards to the recent Shiva incident... I love this crew, my team, my work... however I feel lately its been corrupted, and I'm slowly dying of a disease I cannot rid of. Could be the blood on my hands... could be the alcohol? Regardless I beg of you to not take this the wrong way, I'm not doing this to smite anyone. I'm doing this because it must be done. By the time your reading this, I'd probably have been killed. Yet this is fine. Because at least I can rest knowing that the capacities for stopping this rampage are finally in the right hands... Whatever happens, take care of my family for old times sakes...
-Doctor Andrew Conners
Chapter 1: Droaom
The report ended with a series of mug shots of the alleged D. Conners' body laying on the ground, blood stained covering over his limped corpse. How long did I know Conners? Ten, twelve- twenty years? I forget, but I know its been at least a few decades or so. Dead? Doctor Andrew Conners- the multi-award winner, scientific and engineering leader, mentor, friend, proud father of three, newly appointed grandfather, creator of the renown ACU mark III series and mastermind behind Project Dragoon- dead? And I let it happen... under my very nose. God damn it Andrew, why?
I continued to stair at the broad package of neatly filed pages, with the funky smell of fresh hot-pressed ink, brought to my desk, courtesy of CIF. My old sore figures fumbled around the report, as the shock finally began to sink in. Dead? I can't believe it. To be sure that I wasn't reading a hoax or having another hallucination, I carefully studied the fine print of the report. The report broke down the entire incident from the breach to the sudden short lived firefight between Andrew and the enforcers who arrived to arrest him. It was tightly written with no loop holes or any details that could've been looked upon as questionable. Compliments to the writer. On the bottom, the report ended with the official seal of CIF: the letters of C-I-F written in azure spaced a little bit apart from one another, along with a zurk- a four-winged yellowish dragon native to the Allokia colony, in the background. The zurk's tail was wrap over a bronze medallion with the quite frankly disturbing motto: Wisdom, Authority, Patriotism engraved around the medallion's edges.
I've always hated this seal, too many secrets. After the initial report came the confession from Andrew. I consider myself to be a tough bloke, emotions in check, controlled, and hidden from public view. Yet I felt heart broken reading Andrew's confession. As I read the question of why constantly repeated in my mind. Why? Why, why, why, why, why?! Why Andrew, what made you feel like this? You mention you've lost faith, but why- what made you lose it? Was it me, did I do something to make you lose confidence in our mission? Andrew…. why? I guess it doesn't really matter anymore. The better question- in fact the only question I should be thinking about now is who did you give the schematics too? And what did you mean by rampage?
"The capacities for stopping this rampage are finally in the right hands," I quoted abroad believing I was alone in my office, when I realized that someone had entered.
"Admiral Droaom?" A young bashful man asked, dressed in fresh pressed Coalition naval grey-black-dark azure ceremonial uniform, with his officer's cap tucked away in his right armpit. The officer's cap read the name Taet, lieutenant Caron Taet, though I already knew that. Taet was a young man barely out of his twenties with finely trimmed dark brown hair, vibrate blue eyes and sun bathed skin. He was five' twelve in height and had a slight tick in his left eye, which flinched randomly every so often. Other than that Taet's records patronized him as a highly potential commander and pilot of an ACU... even though he was a little rough around the edges when it came to social interaction.
"Mine my asking sir, but what were you reading?" Taet politely asked again.
"The final statement from the late doctor Conners. 'The capacities for stopping this rampage are finally in the right hands,' end quote." I re-quoted placing the confession down along with the CIF report on the top right corner of my bronze birch desk. Most of my furniture was made from bronze birch, an evolved birch subspecies native to the Allokia islands. Its aurora, its look, the firmness of its surface as you skimmed your hand across it... you get the picture.
"Right hands?"
"Got me. Thought the right hands were the CDC. Guess the doctor held a different opinion."
"Do you think its true, sir?" Taet cautiously asked, avoiding to sound like an arrogant brat. He knew that Andrew and I had a long history, a wrong worded phrase could easily ignite into a punching contest. Not saying I'd punch him, but I won't lie either and say I'm not feeling edgy right now.
"About what?" I replied playing dumb. As good as Taet was as a commander, he still acted like a nervous five year old whenever he was talking heart-to-heart with someone, especially when it came to talking to me. It's written all over his face. Deciding to play dumb made Taet a bit less tense.
"About doctor Conners and his involvement with the breach."
"His confession here essentially confirms that he was involve. Probably orchestrated it... you can take a seat by the way," I forward the option to Taet who remained standing.
"Thank you sir," Taet accepted, taking a seat across from my desk before continuing, "If thats true, then why go through all the trouble of pretending that he believed in what we're doing? Why become facade, hiding his true feelings?"
I handed Taet the confession which he quickly read through.
"Loyalty. Loyalty to the crew, his team, to me. I can only guess and say that he didn't want to leave us, but his heart disagreed with the CDC ideals. His heart desired more collective independence of the three nations. Rather than melt together under one banner."
"So what, he had a conscious crisis over signing with the Coalition?"
"Conscious crisis, emotional breakdown, change of heart- doesn't really matter now. I just want to tie this up and move forward."
"Not to beat a dead horse, but if he had a conscious crisis or whatever- then why didn't he just leave, resign from his duties, his commission in the CDC? Why instead, did he supposedly orchestrate a breach in our security, help an unknown infiltration team get in, steal multiple ACU scales along with who knows how many Dragoon prototype schematics and then help them escape? Calling it for the greater good... it doesn't make sense."
"What doesn't make sense?"
"The fact that he'd so radically turn in such a way and became an terrorist," Taet answered, flinching as if he just landed on a land mine. I swear I hate that all my subordinates, even high ranked ones like Taet feel like I'm a walking time bomb.
"War does that. It changes people in the most unexpected ways... Your too young to remember the Seraphim. I had several friends and family members killed during their invasion and I also saw a lot of comrades changed, snap even. This stuff happens."
"I don't agree with that assessment. Its too convenient,"
"I'm sorry to say it, but your a bit naive then. Human personality changes when shit hits the fan- which it has ever since the Shiva incident." I commented recalling the numerous files I read about the incident. Specifically how Commander Ivan Brackman issued the destruction of the device against his father's wishes in hopes of maintaining peace. Gave a good speech about it too if I do say so myself. Unfortunately ever since the assassination of President Dimitri Feldberg the Coalition hasn't been the same. The late Colonel Rogers and his loyalist's Coup d'etat has been the most troubling.
"Basically commander, when it comes down to war the sane become unpredictable and chaotic whilst the insane become lions amoung sheep," I solemnly said. I could see it in Taet's eyes though that he was struggling to accept that Andrew turned on us, however was willing to move onward.
"Maybe... anyway, forgive my arrogance sir," Taet announced, sounding more professional and firm then he was a minute ago.
"Everyone has moments like these, it's fine." I replied modestly.
"Now that Conners is unfortunately unable to answer for his actions," Taet said, avoiding the word dead as if hearing Conners and dead together would crush me. I'm old but not fragile?
"What are your orders, sir?"
"Do you actually believe him that he played a role in the breach, or are you just moving onward to be more professional?"
"Like I said earlier, I may disagree about people changing so radically, though I cannot act stupid and deny the evidence which clearly points to his involvement... sir."Taet broadly answered. Talk about quickly moving forward.
"Alright..." I replied taking a moment sigh before continuing, "as of now I want all of our security systems; hardware, software and able bodies to be thoroughly checked and purged of any sign of breach. If a system routine is broken- fix it, if an enforcer shows signs of neglect in his duties or shows signs of possible corruption- replace them. I want my ship back in order, understood?"
"Yes sir,"
"Good, then do it." I commanded as Taet exited the room.
After he left I found myself laughing at how Taet could go from a professional officer of the Colonial Defense Coalition, to an confused, naive five year old back to being professional officer. Kid was good, though seriously needed to work on acting mature, especially when he's in private conversations. Any other commanding officer would most likely slap Taet until he was bloodied and acted more maturely for his age. I didn't really care, thought it help humanize my officers if they open up a little. Maybe that's why most crew members believe they can express themselves like a child with their father. Because most secretly feel like I'm a father to them... fuck, that's so unprofessional. Though what can you do, really? And in a way... its kind of flattering.
The office was quiet for several minutes afterwards until my stomach abruptly grumbled. I didn't realize how hungry I was. So rather than do nothing I decided to go the ship's cafeteria or mess hall and grab a bit. I don't know why, but before I left the room I took a moment to study. The office was largely simple, I'd never felt comfortable in exotic, lustrous, manor-like offices: too distracting. However I did have a few decorates ranging from a few leather chairs, the bronze birch desk which I was currently working on and several paintings ranging from historic figures or events to more bohemian artistry. Hmm... maybe I just contradicted myself. Anyway, to my right were five book shelves, each categorized in secular importance: from the far left were fiction recreational stories, poems, and journals climbing in significance to the far right which held strategic documents, intel and recent war maps relying troop and fleet movements. I should really change that. Besides those, behind me was a large display of living maps showing the numerous space regions of control. Systems in blue were under the banner of the United Earth Federation, those in red under the Cybran Nation while in green were the Aeon or Illuminate as they're referred to now. Leaving the relative small blob of grey-azure for the CDC.
The floor was pampered with a high quality floor rug, with the naval colours of grey, black and dark azure laced together in the form of an ancient mandala said to have originated from ancient China. If that was true then having it on the floor would be shameful- damn thing should be in a museum or something like that. But the previous commander of the CCV Tovenaar enjoyed his expensive and breathe taking possessions; hoping to show off by having the ship's engineers graft the mandala onto the sea-cabin's flooring. If I really wanted to I could order it to be removed however the thing's so fragile that it'll unfortunately rip with the slightest misstep. Hence why I don't bother to even attempt removal.
Standing up, I took a moment to stretch my legs, as a series of cracks followed. Afterwards I approached the double framed bronze birch doorway and exited. Because I'm used to it I didn't make a scene, however an interesting thing about being an officer, particular an Admiral of the Aggregate Colonial Coalition Navy or ACCN: is that your caught in between the world of lavishness and the world of military profession. The contrast was quite remarkable. One only needs to pass through the door of an officer's room and into the hallways of the ship to understand that ACCN officers are immensely spoiled. Even here in this office its highly spoiled... and this is just my sea-cabin?
The hallways had absolutely no vibe, no personality: simply dull grey steel walls, angled in kite format though upside down with the flooring spaced a bit to make decent hallways. Every two meters was a dull grey steel support beam alined with the wall which maintained their reverse kite format. It was boring to walk along these hallways. Absolutely boring... maybe I should contact Illuminate Command and see if they can add some flavour?
grumble
I wonder if the mess hall is still open? I'm starting to get kind of hungry.
I looked at my blue leathered watch that my grandson gave to me. It still had the little scratch on the top right side from Dylan's dog which made me smile. I still remember Dylan's face as he was handing the watch over to me: kid got so upset because his dog decided to make the watch its new chew toy. Anyway the watch read 4145 hours. That meant it was fifteen minutes before 1 o'clock, Allokian Standard Time.
For a slight moment I began to doubt to even bother going to the mess hall. I'll have to wait till 1400 hours for the next shift to start. And even if I did go, I'd probably pissed off the cooks, big time. They're most likely swapped with exhaustion that they're aching to be dismissed. I tend to forget the fact that I live in a different world: metaphorically speaking. Like how I mentioned earlier, I live in the lavish world and am used to be served food, or having most mundane things like managing emails, appointments, keeping up to date with the news- and blah, blah, blah. Working a good hard workday and being exhausted is frequently foreign to me; most days I'm filling out paperwork or studying chart layouts. And these were sparse. So on average, my day wasn't too difficult.
Unlike most people, especially those of my crew native to the Allokia Colony. It's generally accepted that the natural day span a human can handle is about 24 hours Earth standard. This includes UEF, Cybran and Illuminate. Staying awake longer than 24 hours and the human body begins to shut down; it's slow of course but the effects add up. Unfortunately for Allokians this notion of an 24-hour day cycle was completely foreign, strange even. To us, our day consisted of 42 hours.
grumble
Again my stomach grumbled, louder this time. I continued my way through the numerous hallways towards the nearest elevator shaft, when my stomach grumbled even louder.
grumble
"I'm too old for this." I quietly protested as I caved to my stomach's demand and rooted myself for one of Gharia's famous shouting matches. Gharia was sane alright, but seeing her rip an Seaman's a new ass convinced me that she was secretly an mental hospital patient escapee.
From my office, or the sea-cabin as it was known, was located adjacent to OPS: an circular room located just a bit forward from the centre on the tenth floor. The route from the sea-cabin to the nearest elevator shaft, which was starboard side was about a kilometer away. Not good for my old, sore legs. When I was younger a 1Km walk was nothing: now my legs make it seem like its an marathon. Anyhow from starboard the mess hall would be dead centre of the twenty-seventh level, the middle of the commons.
Twenty minutes later and about a hundred salutes, I finally arrived at the shaft. Taking an moment, I scanned the premise to see which of the five elevators were available, selecting appropriately and then pushing bright blue holographic buttons to designated the chosen level. I'd have to wait, since as my chosen elevator was currently at the thirty-second level shown by big holographic numbers of three-two with a straight bar underneath signifying the elevator's state. Having to annoying wait, I paced around before noticing a small column of chairs, fixated against the wall. I was just about to take a seat, when suddenly a loud beep rang off from the fourth elevator. The beep was announcing a change in the elevators conditions, as the bar line changed to an upwards arrow; with the numbers counting down every three seconds. A minute later another beep sounded off as a pair of steel doors, with the CDC logo painted on them, opened revealing an empty reflective mirror covered carriage.
"So much for sitting down?" I quietly grumbled, slowing getting up again. Once up I entered the carriage, waited for the doors the close then leaned against the back, counting the numbers. Most ships, civilians, commercial and military are used to having the lowest level being level 1 climbing by one till the top of the individual ship.
In the Tovenaar and other Allokian-made ships however, this structure has been reversed for both defensive and offensive capabilities. As such the ship's enforcers can easily out flank and out-maneuver invaders, like pirates, who'd be helplessly confused with the arrangement. As well, the structure reverse creates a sound formation amongst the ship's caste. Lowest castes being on the commons, level 29 to level 25, going to the highest which was me at level 1. Technically it was level 4 since level 1 was the stardeck, level 2 and 3 being Cannon control.
Regardless with this system, crew members could navigated the ship with no problem, knowing who and where everyone was supposed to be based on rank. Trick was not to be predictable in shipbuilding. This reverse is only good so long as the opponent doesn't know how to navigate the ship. If he does, it makes me an easy target. To compensate Allokian Habours made sure that the most important area's like OPS, my sea-cabin, my actually cabin, the barracks, armoury, and the labs were the hardest to reach. They accomplished this by removing them from the elevators or Shafts. So if you really needed to see me, you'd have to go to level 2, storm level 3 and then descend to level 4. Plenty of time for me to ready and shoot your ass.
A several seconds and a beep later, I finally reached level 27. Immediately I was greeted by waves of salutes as crew men and women passing through stopped to salute, crossing their right arm across their forehead. As I walked by saluting back. I'll admit and say that I was surprise at the activity on this level regarding the time. Figured Gharia would've by now started to rip peoples heads off unless they cleared out, guess not. Anyway, Level 27 was perhaps one of the most simplistic in the Tovenaar. Its layout comprised of a large central room, essentially the cafeteria, the kitchen, four sets of elevators- two each on starboard and port, staff quarters, restrooms and several storage rooms each specialized for different foods and beverages. My favourite was beverage-five special occasions: which meant alcohol.
The entrance to the cafeteria was made up of two double door entree ways, one for starboard, one for port. The cafeteria itself was basically like any other cafeteria in the cosmos only this time it being the size of a high school. It isn't ridiculously huge, however large enough to house several hundred crew members at one given time.
Once inside I quickly skimmed the area. The occupants spread across numerous tables and spots, consisted of three groups; the first being those soon to retire to their quarters, quickly eating something before heading for bed. The second and most numerous were the early birds of the next shift, having breakfast and morning coffee. Leaving the last to being Gharia's group, who were currently doing some final cleaning and preparing of the kitchen and mess hall. It wasn't hard to spot Gharia: an older lady around my age, with plum dyed hair tied into a bun, frail skin, and a body of an ox. Old as she was, Gharia could heft three times her weight- which was amazing. It also help her to immediate those who would cause some problems. Particularly the overzealous UEF members who blamed the Illuminate members for recent terrorist actions. I mean who'd want to fight an ox after all?
Now, I know what people would be thinking. Why's an Admiral doing in the grub hall? Doesn't he have his own personal kitchen staff? Well, I do and don't get me wrong Sweetie's food is the best: but Gharia's chili is legendary. Dubbed Nuke in a Bowl, Gharia's chili is so jammed packed with spices and flavouring that it figuratively will make your mouth go on fire. But its fresh baked taste, its aurora are too die for. God its so good- even Sweetie, a professional cook with a master's degree in culinary, dreams of the day of when he'll learn the secret behind nuke in a bowl. Gharia's no professional: she's just got kick ass natural talent.
If it wasn't almost 1 o'clock in the morning I'd order nuke in a bowl but I'm in the mood for something simple.
grumble.
"Droaom," A raspy voice spoke out of the blue as I approached the kitchen counter. It was Gharia. Was it her she nack for knowing when someone important in her eyes just entered her mess hall or my stomach's grumbling that gave me away?
"Hello Gharia, closing soon?" I replied, which she shrugged in response.
"Soon I hope. The breach has had an odd effect on people's appetite. The grunts are more alert, paranoid that something else is going to happen and that makes them hungry."
"I thought your shift would've by now have retired. Shouldn't the next shift be doing this?"
"Nah, told them to sleep bit longer. My gang can handle shit like this. Ain't a problem working over time. Besides crowd's dying down. Shouldn't be long before I start calling people off,"
"Well that's good. Just promise me you won't over do yourself, okay?" I asked sincerely.
"Mph, elder's promise." She answered. Knowing Gharia though she'd keep working until the cows came home- metaphorically speaking of course.
"I don't see any Cybran members," I bolding claimed making a quick observation.
"Not a lot come in here. They need some type of special food that doesn't screw with their hardware. Those that did come in just left." Gharia explained as I remarked a slight oh.
"I'm sorry bout your friend," Gharia apologetically expressed.
"Yeah so am I. I should've seen the signs that he was struggling,"
"Ain't your fault. Him who betrayed you, not the other way around. He' the one who help steal em' Armoured thingys of yours after all?" Gharia preached. She was right of course, however I still felt a bit responsible for this.
"I suppose your right. And you mean ACU's?"
"Hmm, whatever- you what i mean. Anyhow, seen Mel yet?"
"Nah, soon though. Giving her space to mourn- perhaps in the morning."
"She'll be fine, Mel's no princess."
"No doubt about it, still privacy is best thing I can give her at this moment,"
"True, but sooner you see her the better. No point in waiting, y'know?"
"Agreed,"
"Anyway, whatcha wanna have? Just made a new batch of nuke in a bowl, want some?"
"Love too, but I don't think my stomach could handle it, got any pattabe?"
"Hmm, let me check," She replied sounding a bit doubtful. A minute later she came back with a patter of pattabe, "Last bunch, how many you want?"
"One will fine, thank you," I thanked as Gharia picked the top one and wrapped it in parchment paper and handed it over.
"Thanks again, how much do I owe you?" I asked, because pattabe were expensive to make and they weren't on the regular shipping menu, which meant Gharia had to make them from scratch.
"Did you just seriously ask that? Droaom you dumbass, I can't charge an Admiral," Gharia smirked.
"But aren't pattabe costly for you to make?"
"Well yah, but again your an Admiral- you eat for free. I also make up for the cost in a single day, so a free pattabe give away won't bankrupt me." She answered as we both smiled. Before I left I said my thanks for the third time and headed off. I didn't really want to wait to eat until I was back in my office, so instead I found a nice exclusive spot in the hall. It was one of the areas that hadn't been cleaned yet, since I didn't want to be an asshole, mucking up a table a custodian had worked hard to clean.
Once I felt comfortable, I didn't waste anytime digging into the pattabe. Focusing on the pattabe help me from seeing all the unwanted attention I was receiving. Soon the mess hall was divided into my area and the grunt area which included, well- everyone. That's reputation for you. A few bites in and I reached the good parts of the pattabe. The pattabe was a flaky triangular shaped pastry, with icing sugar and pastry gel on top. Inside the pattabe was made up of layers of flaky crusts, each drowned with honey. The center was a pocket of warm milked custard. Besides nuke in a bowl, pattabe' were my absolute favourite thing to eat. Eating pattabe also reminded me of home on Allokia Major.
While I generously ate the pattabe, I took the time to think upon the question that'll probably occupy my time from now on. Where are the ACU's that Andrew help steal? The CIF report cited that an estimated of five ACU's were stolen. 2 UEF, and one of each Cybran and Illuminate. How the hell did Andrew and this infiltration team pull that off? Especially without being seen. Security only found out because Andrew accidentally alerted the ship's sensors. He was never one for stealth. But still... five ACU's.
But that's not the problem. Oh no, the most damaging and by far most disturbing were the theft of the Dragoon prototype schematics from Andrew's lab. The Tovenaar was going to be the birth place of a whole new generation of mechanical warfare. I guess it still can, after all- I had some ideas of my own, and then there's Mel: yes it can work. However, without Andrew we're at an serious disadvantage. No one knew the program better than Andrew: after all he was Program Director. Agh, what a nightmare!
So when it comes down to hiding something important from not only the CDC but from the UEF, Cybran and Illuminate combine: where would you go? Think Daniel, think- where would Andrew hide his Dragoons from me? Think Daniel, think...
Free space- of course. The one type of space I cannot freely enter... damn you Andrew, damn you to hell.