Alright, and we're back with the first real chapter, yay! Sorry it took so long, but I posted the prologue right before I started studying for finals (ouch) and then I went home to visit my family for the holidays and didn't really do much with the chapter. However, my break is coming to an end now and I'm in high spirits after Christmas, so here we go.
First of all thank you Alucard'T'Polterguise and RisuQ-theQissilent for your reviews, and let me apologize for keeping you waiting.
Disclaimer: the usual guff: Pokémon isn't mine, blah-blah-blah, it belongs to Nintendo and I'm just messing around in their sandbox. Oh, and there are two references to the late Sir Arthur C Clarke, one of my favorite Sci-Fi authors of all time in this chapter, one is fairly obivous but the other rather subtle. Two points to anyone who can spot both.
Oh, and just a heads-up I voice some pretty strong opinions in this chapter, I hope it isn't too much and I didn't want to do some sort of author filibuster, but the politics play a big part of the story's beginning so if you don't like it, just grin and bear it with the knowledge that the next chapter will be pretty much filled with non-stop action, I promise. : )
First Contact - Chapter One - New Arrivals
The Captain's hologram went on.
"I can't offer anything more than the truth. Broken, cold, and unmovable." He laughed bitterly. "Consider it my legacy, the tale of how I sold the soul of our whole dammed species for a shot at surviving on this pitiful ball of rock. I don't ask for forgiveness, only that you learn and maybe even understand."
His image faded, and was replaced by a different scene.
Stars dotted an inky black sky in the void between worlds. Like diamonds, they glittered and shone in strange, unfamiliar patterns. In one direction there was a thicker band of stars, shot through with darker bands; the Milky Way. Relatively closer there was a slightly brighter star, barely standing out from the background, and glowing with a bright yellow light. This was not the solar system humans knew, it lay an unimaginable distance away from the tiny sun that they had existed under for so long. This star was far closer to the galactic core and beyond the sight of all but the most powerful telescopes. There was no scale to compare the scene to, no distance, no objects to put the sense of vast distance in perspective. It was total emptiness, infinitely stretching in all directions.
The nothingness changed.
A section of space rippled, as air did over the blacktop on a hot day. Through the distortion the light from distant stars seemed to bend. It was as if a bubble had appeared in the fabric of reality. The bubble grew and grew until it burst apart in a furious burst of light and radiation. A white tear appeared in the middle of nowhere, infinitely thin and only half in this universe. In the exact center of the circular maelstrom there was a tiny black dot, and if one were to look closely at the dot and shut out the glare that surrounded it they would swear they could see stars shining through it, and feel a sense of incredible vertigo.
And as suddenly as the blinking of an eye the tear vanished as if it had never been. The only evidence of its existence was what it left behind.
It was a single spacecraft, obviously massive even though there was no way to tell in the nothingness of space. At two miles long, the Flame of Dawn was the single largest space construct ever created by human hands. It was roughly in the shape of a cylinder, with an uneven hull covered in piping, radiators, antennae, and other systems. One half was bathed in the white light of the distant alien sun while the other remained in shadow, illuminated only by the gentle glow of the running lights set in intervals along the hull. The fore of the ship was narrowed down like the tip of a spear, while the stern bulged out into a vaguely cross-shaped form, which housed ten mammoth engine nozzles. The dull gray surface was pitted and scarred with black streaks, evidence of old micrometeor impacts. On the bow massive ten-story black lettering proclaimed the ship's name, which was illuminated by dozens of floodlights.
The moment the disturbance vanished the vessel began to move. Slowly at first, but gaining momentum the ship's main supplies of power were re-directed from the FTL device at its heart to the engine assemblies in the rear. Electromagnetic coils came online and volatile gases flooded ignition chambers as the plasma engines prepared to engage. With a flash ten long streams of blue-white fire burst from the rear of the ship and it began to move slowly, but it gained momentum as time went on. As the ship moved heat sinks and massive strips of the hull began to glow white-hot as well; radiators, dedicated to siphoning off the torrential amounts of heat the engines gave off.
A series of small attitude jets fired along the massive vessel's length, adjusting its trajectory. The engines remained online for a long time, but in the absence of a reference frame it was not certain for how long. When the streams of plasma finally shut off the nozzles continued to glow white from the residual heat; they wouldn't cool off for weeks. Suddenly there came a series of flashes along the bow superstructure; the ship was colliding with a small swarm of meteors. The ship's sensors immediately reacted to the impact and took action. Huge radar arrays hidden in alcoves at intervals along the hull switched on, first firing broad-wave pulses to locate the rest of the swarm, and then small, concentrated pulses to lock in on individual targets. The powerful targeting computers assessed the data almost instantaneously and fed it to the defenses. In the space of two heartbeats two dozen beams of white light lanced out from spiny projections on the ship's bow and swept through the seemingly empty space before the ship. A series of small flashes erupted as the larger fragments of rock were reduced to their component atoms. Half a second after it began the defenses shut off and the ship was silent once more as what was left of the swarm splattered harmlessly against the ship's thick external armor.
The computers quickly analyzed the damage and found no imminent threat to the vessel's safety. They placed the defenses into standby mode to wait. In a few months they'd begin the stabilize the interior environment and spin up the external hull to provide artificial gravity. Then they would awake their sleeping masters to begin their true work. The machines waited, patiently watching the data as it streamed by, uncaring of anything other than their tasks, while noting anything that could be useful about the star system around the ship so they would have a full report for the officers when they awoke.
After all, if they were to conquer another world they'd need every advantage they could get.
Brown.
That was the first conscious thought of Captain John Anderson, USNA Navy.
Brown everywhere, where am I? Who am I? Oh God I'm drowning! I can't breath! I-
Capt Anderson's lungs felt sodden and heavy; every breath felt like he was pushing a small car off of his chest. In a panic he thrashed out, his hands trailing through a viscous brown gel that surrounded him on all sides. One of his hands struck a curving, cool surface barely a foot from his chest. He reached out tentatively with his eyes squeezed shut against the burning sensation that keeping them open produced and felt his way along and realized one thing.
I'm sealed in. Oh God I can't get out!
Suddenly he felt a tugging and the fluid around him began to recede, draining into the floor. Within a few moments his head broke the surface of the jelly-like, sticky substance and he forced his eyes open. He was in some sort of glass tube. Soft white lighting was embedded in the walls, providing some illumination. He realized that he was wearing some sort of starfish-shaped mask and tried to tear it off. With dawning horror he realized that tubes from the inside of the mask were extended through his nose and mouth and into both of his lungs. Fighting panic and finding it harder that ever to concentrate, he reached up with shaking hands and undid the clasps on the mask and slowly pulled it off-
And half-coughed, half-vomited up a tremendous quantity of dark brown fluid tinged with red. He took a shuddering breath of the cool air at the top of the still-draining pod and succumbed to a coughing fit. He slipped and slid back under the surface, clawing desperately at the walls. However the brown sludge was nearly fully drained by then and he didn't drown.
He curled into a fetal ball at the bottom of the tank, a grey-haired athletic man in his late-fifties, his body racked with hacking, phlegmy coughs and covered in grimy, brown fluid. He didn't remember who he was, or what was going on. There came a beep, and ice-cold water sprayed out of hidden nozzles in the walls of the tank, washing away all remains of the fluid. Captain Anderson whimpered slightly and trembled.
The water spray shut off, the water that washed down the drain would be sent through special filters and then fed back into the main reservoir later. Next came a series of air jets that washed over him with warmth, drying him. His shivering subsided slightly and after a few minutes they shut off as well, leaving the slightly damp, naked man alone, wedged in the bottom of his tube. Slowly he unclenched his muscles and realized that there was a pain coming from his otherwise-numb forearm. He cracked an eye open and saw a large needle stuck half into the skin. A thin red rivulet of blood was draining from the connection. He wrenched it out, causing more bleeding. He hissed in pain and dropped the IV, leaving it to dangle at the side of the tank.
After a few more shuddering breaths he stood and felt the walls of the tank. He had to get out of here, wherever here was.
To the right, access handle.
He shook his head as the thought swum to the forefront of his mind, but then glanced over and saw a small lever marked with yellow and black stripes. He pulled it and miraculously there was a hiss and the front of the coffin-like space moved away and then slid up out of sight, revealing darkness beyond. Captain Anderson stood, took a deep breath, and stepped out, only to jerk back with a yelp. The metal decking just outside of his tube was freezing. In fact he realized that the air wafting in from outside was freezing too, and his breath was misting before him. He wrapped his arms around himself tried to order his thoughts, but his brain felt slow and sluggish. He shook his head and noticed that a series of lights had come on on the floor outside his tube. He braced himself and put another foot outside, to find that the decking had warmed up to a comfortable temperature.
He took a few steps out and turned around. His tube was set into a dull gray wall, with a small computer display on one side and a locker on the other. He glanced up and down the corridor and realized that there were similar tubes in all directions, however whereas his was lit up and white, the others were dark and silent. He started when the door on his tube slid back into place and sealed with a hiss. Then the lights went out and he was alone in a dark hall with only the screen and deck lights to illuminate the darkness that seemed to stretch on forever. Aside from his breathing, the hissing of some distant machinery, and a muted hum pervaded the corridor the place was silent.
Where in God's name am I? He thought fearfully.
He looked intently at the computer monitor next to the tube he was in. It displayed a profile view of a human being with several points on the body lit up in different colors and some biometric readings. At the top were the words: 'Anderson, John F. Captain, USNA ISV Flame of Dawn.'
"Anderson?" the man whispered with a harsh, cracked voice. Suddenly everything came back to him in a rush -the academy, the war, the mission, going under- as well as a splitting headache. He put his head in his hands and groaned. He staggered to his locker and opened it, searching for the small bottle of pain-killers. He dry swallowed two and sighed in relief when they kicked in. Straightening, he quickly donned his uniform, an olive drab jumpsuit and velcro slippers. He zipped up the suit and closed the locker, walking swiftly out of the dark, cold hibernation bay.
Captain Anderson sat in his small, cramped office and sipped on a small cup of coffee he had just made. Two hundred and fifty thousand lightyears away and humanity decided one of the precious few necessities that they had to bring from Earth was coffee. He thought with a grin as he sipped it again. Not that he was complaining.
His smile faded as he glanced around at the white, spartan office. There was a lone bookcase to one side and a large desk with a small fridge beneath it which held some of the finer things in life. Alone those two items took up most of the small space. A tiny bathroom was located off to one side. By Earth standards, it wasn't much, however on a spaceship it was like having his own hotel suite.
He took another gulp and tapped a point on his glass desktop. The lights dimmed and a keyboard appeared on the surface of the desk. A holographic display appeared in front of him as well. The Captain set his cup down and typed slowly into the computer.
QUERY: CURRENT MISSION ELAPSED TIME.
RESPONSE: CURRENT ELAPSED SHIPBOARD TIME: 50 YEARS, 4 MONTHS, 2 WEEKS, 3 DAYS, 12 HOURS, 5 MINUTES, 37 SECONDS. CURRENT ELAPSED TIME BEYOND LOCALIZED WORMHOLE UNKNOWN. CAUSE: UNFORESEEN TEMPORAL DISTORTION. CURRENT TIME UNTIL THE VESSEL MAKES ORBIT: 3 WEEKS, 4 DAYS, 12 HOURS, 14 MINUTES, AND 5 SECONDS.
Anderson sighed and shook his head slightly. He would have settled for fifty years. He opened his desk drawer and pulled out a hard copy of the mission timetable. Glancing at it he found that they were right on schedule, which bothered him greatly considering what he had seen in the hibernation bay. He put the slip of paper away and turned back to the computer screen.
QUERY: NUMBER OF ACTIVE PERSONNEL.
There was a barely detectable pause before:
RESPONSE: TOTAL NUMBER OF CREW IN NON-HIBERNATIVE STATE: ONE. ALL OTHER PERSONNEL IN STABLE HIBERNATION, NO CASUALTIES.
The Captain frowned. If everything was fine and on-schedule then why the hell wasn't anybody else awake? There was supposed to be a complete compliment of soldiers awakened all at once along with his crew.
QUERY: PURPOSE OF CURRENT CREW CONDITION.
PLEASE CLARIFY.
WHY AM I THE ONLY ONE AWAKE?
CURRENT CONDITION PURSUANT TO COMMAND DIRECTIVE AA-93/B EMERGENCY MISSION OVERRIDE. CAPTAIN'S EYES ONLY.
Anderson frowned at that. Even he wasn't briefed on his complete orders. The higher-ups back on Earth had come up with a monumental amount of orders to (supposedly) cover every conceivable contingency that might arise. They were programmed into the computers and only himself and a handful of other officers were authorized to view them. He'd never seen that particular code before.
CAPTAIN'S OVERRIDE: SERIAL NUMBER 529-33-173, AUTHORIZATION PASS PHRASE: AGAINST THE FALL OF NIGHT.
ACCEPTED.
Anderson took a deep breath before proceeding.
CLARIFY COMMAND DIRECTIVE AA-93/B.
EMERGENCY COMMAND OVERRIDE: IF THE POSSIBILITY OF LIFE IS FOUND TO EXIST ON PLANET KEPLER 250-500 COMMAND AUTHORITY IS TO BE GIVEN TO THE CAPTAIN OR ACTING CAPTAIN OF USNA ISV FLAME OF DAWN. ALL OTHER CREW MEMBERS ARE TO BE KEPT IN HIBERNATION UNTIL CAPTAIN OR ACTING CAPTAIN HAS BEEN FULLY BRIEFED AND HAS ISSUED SUPPLEMENTARY ORDERS. CAPTAIN OR ACTING CAPTAIN IS AUTHORIZED TO TAKE ANY AND ALL STEPS DEEMED NECESSARY TO SECURE PLANET KEPLER 250-500 UP TO AND INCLUDING ACTS OF AGGRESSION WITH ANY FORCE DEEMED APPROPRIATE. IF INTELLIGENT LIFE IS FOUND ON PLANET'S SURFACE, ORDERS ARE UNCHANGED.
Captain Anderson slumped in his chair, stunned. What the hell was that all about? He thought. We discussed the possibility of life on the planet's surface loads of times during training. We never talked about starting a war with any natives that might exist there. We were trained on 'making peacful contact' and 'communications difficulties that might arise.' Where did this come from?
He knew where it came from, though. It came from the changed atmosphere on Earth as the mission drew closer to the launch. It came from the possibility that there might never be an Earth to go back to. He suspected that these orders had been tacked on at the end of the mission, when it started looking less like a colonization mission and more like Noah's Ark.
He scowled at the suddenly bitter taste in his mouth. Of all the things to wake up to in the morning. He thought darkly rubbing the sides of his head. He looked again at the orders, and re-considered. It isn't like I'm being ordered to immediately attack the natives, but it is telling me that no matter what I have to secure the planet. With one ship. He sighed. For all our sakes I hope there are no natives.
He straightened and looked back at the computer.
QUERY: EVIDENCE TO SUPPORT COMMAND DIRECTIVE AA-93/B.
The screen changed to show what Anderson recognized as the view from one of the ship's bow telescopes. The image showed a star-strewn background and in the exact center of the image a slightly larger and brighter point of blue light. As he watched a different lens was rotated into the the telescope and the image jumped in size. On the screen the blue dot now showed a clearly-defined disk. Anderson could make out patches of white and green on the surface as well. The planet, for that was what it was, was a rich, deep azure color, with what appeared to be continents and huge cloud formations covering parts of the surface.
Anderson slumped again, moisture in his eyes. It looked like everything he'd ever been told about the way Earth used to look. He'd never thought that the famous 'blue marble' picture of Earth could be matched, but seeing this new, untouched world, even if it was blurry and tiny through the ship's main telescope brought feelings of hope back to him. He couldn't believe that Earth, with its wasteland covered continents and murky, cloudy seas and skies could have ever looked like this.
His musings were cut short by the image vanishing and being replaced by other read-outs. The Captain felt a flash of anger but quashed it ruthlessly. He had to stay objective here, he had a job to do. The data on the screen was collected by spectrograph analysis of the atmosphere of the still distant world. Even a cursory glance was enough for Anderson to realize that the atmosphere was almost completely like Earth's, but with a few differences, most notably higher concentrations of oxygen and, strangely, helium. There was more data but he skipped through it, figuring that some of the scientists they'd brought with could analyze it. The upshot was that the computers were telling him that not only did the planet have a proper atmosphere and magnetosphere, it was also covered mostly with water. Another Earth, a place where life could thrive, a place where life probably already did thrive.
Anderson watched a few more screens flow past until he felt he had seen enough. He returned to the command screen and began typing.
QUERY: ARE THERE ANY SIGNS OF CIVILIZATION EMANATING FROM THE PLANET?
NEGATIVE, THERE ARE NO DISCERNIBLE RADIO TRANSMISSIONS EMANATING FROM THE PLANET, NOR ARE THERE ANY DETECTABLE ARTIFICIAL SATELLITES OR SPACECRAFT. IF CIVILIZATION EXISTS IT IS LIKELY PRE-INDUSTRIAL.
Anderson sighed, at least there was some good news. He got up and paced around his office a few times, thinking hard, before he came up with a new plan of action.
DIRECTIVE: AWAKEN ALL SCHEDULED PERSONNEL AS WELL AS MARINE BRAVO COMPANY ASAP. STAGGER THE AWAKENINGS, SO THAT THERE AREN'T TOO MANY PEOPLE IN THE HIBERNATION BAYS AT ONE TIME. ALSO, HAVE THE SHIP CONTINUE PREVIOUSLY DETERMINED COURSE AND PLACE HER IN A POLAR ORBIT. CONTINUE TO MONITOR THE PLANET FOR ANY SIGNS OF CIVILIZATION. PREVIOUS RULES OF ENGAGEMENT REMAIN IN EFFECT: DEFEND THE SHIP FROM ANY THREATS BUT DO NOT FIRE ON ANYTHING UNLESS PROVOKED.
ACKNOWLEDGED. HIBERNATION THAW WILL BEGIN IMMEDIATELY. NOTE: ALL CREW WILL BE FULLY AWAKENED ONLY AFTER MAKING ORBIT.
Captain Anderson sighed at the last statement. Oh well, it's better than nothing. He thought.
Marine 1st Lieutenant Joshua Miller stood and stepped out of his hibernation berth into the long, red-lit corridor, shivering slightly. Around him the rest of the one hundred and sixty person company gingerly stepped out of their own hibernation beds as well. Miller shook his head as if to clear it; he had experienced a slight moment of disorientation after he awoke, but it faded quickly leaving him with a headache that would put even the worst hangover to shame.
Lt Miller was tall and lean but not thin, he was fairly well-muscled but it was compact rather than bulky. He looked more like an athlete than a bodybuilder, which was what the military wanted out of its soldiers; more muscle meant more weight, which meant soldiers who were working harder and less able to fight after long marches or movements. He had damp, short-cropped black hair and a pair of bright blue-gray eyes. With those eyes Miller was observing his platoon. All forty of them were gradually getting dressed with a smattering of murmured conversation going on between them.
He glanced over 1st Lt Zeal, one of the other platoon commanders, and had he been in a better mood and not had the headache he might have stopped to appreciate the view. She was attractive, and looked to be in her early twenties; with well toned muscles, smooth tan skin and had short brown hair. He allowed his gaze to linger on her naked back for just a moment before turning away. As it was all he was in the mood for was a hot shower, some pain meds, and a long rest in his bunk, however he knew he'd only get one of those at the moment. With a scowl he opened the locker next to his hibernation tube and popped two fast-acting pain meds, sighing in relief as they took effect. He slipped into his black thermo-regulating undersuit and then his olive-drab jumpsuit with his name on the right breast. He zipped it up and closed the locker.
"Hey Miller," Lt Zeal's voice came from behind his back. "Man, you look just like I feel."
"Was that a joke?" He asked with irritation as he turned to look into her smiling brown eyes. "Because they don't pay me enough to-"
"ATTENTION ON DECK!" Came a shouted command from further down the hall.
Instantly he snapped his heels together and faced out from the hibernation tube, rigid as a board. He didn't have to look to know that every one of the marines had done the same. The only sound to be heard in the corridor now was the sound of two pairs of boots hitting the ground in coordinated precision.
Down the hall strode the company commander flanked on the left by his XO. At two hundred twenty-five pounds Captain Bernard Mordecai Cordo was built like a rhinoceros and had a temper to match. He was about as tall as Lt Miller but outweighed him by a hefty margin. His head was shaved and his eyes watched his company with the air of an eagle waiting for the first sign of its prey to appear. His executive officer, 1st Lt Patricia Lane looked tiny in comparison, but she was no pushover either and was just as short-tempered as her CO. The pair walked down the silent hall and stopped as one before the assembled platoon officers, who were grouped together.
"Ladies and gentlemen, and I do use those terms in the most general manner possible," Capt Cordo ground out. "The XO and I are off to be briefed by the Navy people running things, which means that you all have a bit of downtime before our mission." He paused and waited for that to sink in. "Or rather, now we have so much more time for drills and exercises before our mission. Lieutenant Miller!"
"Sir!" Came the response.
"I want you and the other platoon leaders running these men and women through every drill you can come up with before I get back from my briefing, if not I'll have you run the length of this ship so many times that you'll be able to run back to Earth without getting out of breath! Do you get me?"
"Sir, yes sir!" Lt Miller shouted.
"Then get to work! Lieutenant Lane, come with me." He turned and left the hibernation bay, his XO in tow.
Miller watched them leave and turned back to his forty-man platoon. This is going to be a long day. He thought as began to issue orders.
Captain Anderson waited in the small, circular gray briefing room for the others to arrive. With him was his XO, Commander Sarah Williams, and his chief engineer Master Chief Petty Officer Stevens. He hadn't told them any of what was going on yet and they were both a little concerned at his behavior since they'd woken up. They sat in silence around the round metal table that took up much of the room and waited.
The door opened inwards and a small crowd of people came in. First through the door were Victoria and Gregory Spiels, a husband and wife biology and chemistry team. Next came Captain Cordo and his XO from the marines. Then the Air Force Colonel James Matthews. Then came Andrew Ryan and John Bartlett, two old friends who were chatting away animatedly. Ryan was an energy scientist and one of the key designers of the ship's main drive, fitting as his grandfather had made the original discovery of Ryan's particle. John Bartlett was the government liaison, whose job was to keep an eye on the ship and the execution of the mission. He was also the oldest person on the mission, at sixty-seven years old although thanks to cosmetic surgery and gene therapy he didn't look it. Last through the door was Mary Jefferson who was engaged in light conversation with Clark Ryan, Andrew's brother. Anderson noted the lack of the Army Colonel, and resolved to investigate it later. The Marines' equivalent was actually him as they were unofficially under his jurisdiction
When they were all in and seated Captain Anderson tapped a control on the tabletop and the door swung shut. He stood and turned to his now silent audience.
"Good day ladies and gentlemen, as you can obviously tell, we've arrived safely and we're all alive." There were some scattered chuckles at that, but they soon fell silent. "Well, all of you are probably curious about our mission and how things have been going, so I'll cut right to the meat of things. First of all the ship is fine, everything is in full working order, there were some minor systems failures but we've gotten them all straightened out thanks to Chief Stevens and his engineering team." He gestured to the man sitting two seats over on his left and there was a smattering of polite applause.
"Now, more seriously, when the ship first began to awaken its passengers it woke me up first and postponed thawing everyone else out." Almost everyone shifted uneasily in their seats at this, glancing around the room. The only ones unaffected were the marines and John Bartlett. Capt Anderson went on.
"Now, when I asked the ship's why I was woken up alone, it replied with this." Anderson tapped a control on the table and glowing lines of text appeared hovering in midair over the table. He paused and allowed the words to sink in.
"Command directive AA-93/B." Anderson said simply. "The computer judged this command override to be in effect, which grants me unlimited operational authority over the colonization effort. I'm not going to try and dispute the order, nor am I going to start playing God with this ship." There was nervous laughter at that. "What I'm going to do is follow the original plan, with a few alterations. But before I get into that, Mr. Bartlett, as our government advisor, I'd like to ask you why you felt the need to authorize the use of force against the native species?"
The thin, black and gray-haired man sighed and stood up. "I'd think it would be obvious Captain, near the end of the ship's construction the international community –excuse me- what was left of the international community was raising a stink about the mission being 'only American' they felt that since it was going to be a human colony that all humans had a right to be on the mission. They felt that even though the spacecraft was built soley by our funds and with our workers that they all deserved spots on the mission."
There were angry grumblings at this. "Fuckin' commies." Someone muttered fairly loudly.
"Yes, well glossing over the um-" He coughed, a phlegmy hacking sound.
"Are you alright Mr. Bartlett?" Anderson asked with concern. "Maybe you should go to sickbay and lie down."
"No, no *cough* it's just some residue from the hibernation vat. I'm fine." He straightened and went on. "Anyways, glossing over the obvious health and safety issues, there was no way we'd let them on our mission and we told them so. Right to their faces in fact. That much is public knowledge, or at least knowledge that we all know well enough." He sighed and looked around. "What isn't public knowledge is that a few months before the launch they issued us an ultimatum: turn over the ship, yes the entire ship, to them, or they would declare war on us."
The rest of the room sat in stunned silence. No one had suspected things would get that bad.
"And, well obviously we ignored them since we are sitting here having this conversation, but if they make good on their threat –and I believe they will- well…"
"Then there won't be another ship sent to relieve us." Anderson said simply, finishing off Bartlett's implication.
"Jesus Christ." Col Matthews whispered. The rest of the room started muttering darkly to one another.
"Ladies and gentlemen please." Bartlett raised his hands up placatingly. "Captain we don't know for sure that there won't be another mission, they couldn't beat us before and I don't think they could beat us now, er, fifty years ago actually." He grinned weakly.
That was a lie and everyone knew it. The USNA had been severely weakened by the shipbuilding effort. Over the years there had been numerous calls to end the construction, but by the time the direness of the situation became fully known it was too late to call off the project. The upper heads of the government and military had grudgingly agreed that by starting to build the ship they had all but signed the death warrant for their country even if they hadn't known it at the time. So they decided that if they were going to go they would go out with a bang and make sure that the ship was good and gone when it all went down. When the ultimatum was delivered they were already resigned to their fate and in fact doubled their efforts to finish and launch the ship, figuring that denying the rest of the world would be their last great "fuck you" to their old enemies. To rub salt in the wound they also found space aboard for Andrew Ryan, the only man capable of even partially understanding how the FTL drive functioned, and arranged to destroy or hide all of the documentation on how the FTL device worked. Their colony would be safe from outside interference and it would thrive, they'd made sure of it.
"So anyways," John Bartlett went on with false cheerfulness. "We figured that with war brewing the construction of any more ships would have to wait, hence this command override, ensuring that the commander will have no qualms whatsoever about doing whatever is necessary to ensure the survival of the ship."
"What does he mean by that?" Someone asked.
"What he means is there's no going back." Capt Anderson said in a weary tone of voice. "We've used up slightly more than half of our overall life support reseves on the trip over, as well as most of our fuel. I don't think I need to spell it out for everybody but I will. We have to make it here or we all die. Period."
There were a few seconds of silence before someone summed up what they were all thinking. "Well shit."
"Yes, well. As the Captain so eloquently put it, we-" Bartlett began.
"We needed a hundred percent before." Anderson cut in. "Now we need a hundred and ten. Everyone has to pull the weight of the entire mission and more."
"Sir, you said you need a hundred and ten percent?" Capt Cordo asked.
"Yes, Captain, I did."
"My marines and I'll give you two hundred." Cordo said gruffly.
"Very good Captain. Now, are there any questions?"
"I have one." Victoria Spiels called out.
"Yes, Mrs. Spiels?"
"May we see this planet? I mean there aren't any windows on the ship and-"
"Yes, yes of course." Captain Anderson tapped a few controls on the tabletop and paused, his finger hovering over one last control. "I must warn everyone, it may be a bit of a shock." He hit the last control.
An image appeared over the table and everyone leaned forward, even the military personnel, staring with wide eyes as if they were trying to drink in the sight. The view was being transmitted from one of the vessel's bow telescopes, one that looked away perpendicularly from the ship's main axis. As such it was staring straight 'down' at the planet the ship was currently in orbit around.
Most of the surface from their vantage point was covered in shadow. No features could be discerned save for occasional flashes of bright yellow and purple light from some spots on the night side, evidence of thunderstorms raging on the far side of the planet. The sliver of the planet that was lit was far more captivating. Illuminated by the golden light of the sun that was hovering just barely over the horizon, the planet was an awesome sight to behold. Most of the surface was a rich, deep azure color, interlaced with lighter teal areas where the water was more shallow. Green land covered a fair portion of what they could see, most of it was covered in various shades of green, but in some places the land had a dusty tan coloration to it, indicating grasslands or deserts. However these areas were few and far between, and were completely surrounded by denser green foliage. Far towards the relative 'top' of the image the land faded to a white coloration, which showed that they were closer to one of the polar ice caps. Hovering over this area was a twisting, vibrant array of colors: an aurora. Intermittent cloud formations dotted the sky, white colored except the portions that were exposed to the sun, those glowed a light gold color.
The group stared at the view, enraptured by the sight. Even Anderson found himself staring wistfully at the picture for a few seconds before he shook his head and cleared his throat loudly.
"Well, there's the planet, we're currently proceeding towards the magnetic south pole and are about to fall into the twilight band where the sunset reaches us."
"That's an aurora, and those are thunderstorms!" Mary Jefferson exclaimed excitedly. "Oh, what I wouldn't give to run some tests and get some instruments down there."
"Well, Ms. Jefferson we're not quite there yet, but I do have some remote measurements and atmospheric data that you should look over. I know it's not enough but it's all we've got at the moment."
Mary nodded happily and pulled out a small tablet computer from the bag she'd brought with her. She tapped away at it, calling up all the data the vessel's sensors had been able to gather over the past several weeks.
"Well, in addition to the remarkably Earth-like environment on the surface, the planet also has a single moon, of comparable size to our own, we haven't determined the composition yet, but that can wait until later. We've also confirmed the existence of four other planets in the system, but the gravimetric data indicates that there are probably more, but to be frank it's not high on the list of priorities at the moment."
"Are there any signs of life?" Asked Mrs. Spiels, still gazing at the screen. She already knew the answer, the lush green biosphere of the planet was staring her right in the face, but she wasn't thinking too clearly at the moment.
"Well, obviously there's the plant life, which anyone can see." Anderson said with a lightly teasing tone. "And if there's flora I'm willing to be there's fauna there to eat it, but as for intelligent life, no. There hasn't been a peep n the radio frequencies and our surface mapping hasn't found anything that hints at an organized design."
"I'm not surprised." Mrs. Spiels muttered almost to herself. "It took millions of years for our planet to produce intelligent life, and even more time before we began building large complex cities that could be seen from space. Actually I'm amazed that there's this much life at all, the star is still so young and ours was so much older when Earth's first life emerged." She sighed. "I can't wait to get down there and take some samples, see what evolutionary paths this place has taken."
"Well, that's the bad news I'm afraid." Anderson said grimly, as one the entire room swiveled their heads to stare at him, it was almost comical. "Mrs. Spiels I'm sorry about this, but until we can determine whether or not the life down there is hostile the only ones going down will be teams of soldiers, marines to be precise."
The military members all nodded, they agreed with the Captain on this, the husband and wife Spiels on the other hand looked like Christmas had been canceled.
"What do you mean they'll be the first to go! We trained for this, our whole damn team trained for this! Half of this mission was based on making possible first contact with another intelligent species and you're going to hand that responsibility to a bunch of jar-heads!" Mrs. Spiels had the more fiery temper than her husband, but Gregory looked pretty upset too. Capt Cordo and his XO on the other hand, they looked ready to chew nails and piss lead.
"Mrs. Spiels please, I'm not saying that you can't go, I'm saying you'll have to go later than you thought." Captain Anderson tried to calm the irate woman down. "Since there is a strong possibility that there is life down there, we need to think about everyone's safety. If the native wildlife turns out to be hostile the soldiers will be capable of handling themselves far better than a team of scientists. And may I remind you that that 'bunch of jar-heads' got the exact same diplomatic first contact training as you did. They aren't all that likely to start an interstellar incident."
"But what if the natives see their weapons and think we've come to conquer them?" Mrs Spiels practically shrieked.
"Enough!" Anderson bellowed as the rest of the room began to shout in response. "First off, you are assuming that there are natives that're smart enough to recognize those weapons for what they are. And second, how would they even know what the marines' guns are? Let me remind you that we will look just as alien to these hypothetical natives as they will to us. For all they know those guns could just be a part of our anatomy. Besides, even if they did somehow recognize their weapons for what they were, they would already know that we've come from another star and have the technology to do so, which means that our weapons would be pretty damn devastating. Now I know that if I were in that situation I'd play it real cool until I could figure out what was going on. Now I grant you, if the marines do encounter intelligent life there is a chance that the natives may panic, but I will guarantee that the marines will only defend themselves if need be and they will not instigate anything. No." He said as she opened her mouth to argue again. "This is not negotiable. I have command authority and I am saying that no civilian will set foot on that planet until the military has secured us a safe base of operations, period. Am I clear?"
"Yes, Captain." She said in an unhappy voice, looking down. Her husband reached over and put his hands on her shoulders, massaging her gently.
"Very well. Captain Cordo, are your marines up for this?" He asked, rubbing his eyes. All this talking was giving him a headache.
"We're ready anytime, sir. Just say when."
"Very well, I say that 'when' is zero-five hundred tomorrow. Got that?"
"Yes sir!"
"Alright, now if there are no further questions…" Everyone at the table shook their heads. "Then this briefing is concluded, good day everyone."
"Private! Get your ass down!" Lt Miller bellowed at the top of his voice.
The young man in bulky black armor started to move before a beam of bright blue light lanced him in the shoulder and he fell over on top of the the Lieutenant.
"Goddammit!" Miller shouted as he rolled the now-unconscious man off of himself and moved back into cover behind the rock pillar. Two more beams of light lanced by, cutting through the air right past the rock where his head was.
He took stock of the situation quickly. Half of his platoon was out of action and what was left was scattered and disorganized. Their platoon sergeant had been sniped early on and as a result the chain of command was broken.
They were in the virtual room, a simulator near the aft end of the ship about the size of a football field. It was one of the few very open areas of the ship and could use holograms and moving components to simulate a wide variety of environments. Right now it was being used as a training ring for the marines, who were all armed with dummy weapons that fired color-coded lasers. They were all clad in black armor that covered everything save for their faces. The armor's surface contained hundreds of sensors that registered every hit of a laser on them and assigned a damage value to it. Once a certain damage threshold was reached the armor would lock up and the soldier would fall over, incapacitated for the rest of the exercise. The immobile bodies of soldiers from all four platoons littered the battlefield, which had taken the shape of a rocky canyon. Lt Miller was huddled in a crevasse ten feet from the bottom of the canyon, and was cursing up a storm because most of the immobile soldiers on the battlefield were from his and third platoon, his ally.
There was the sound of boots on rock behind him and Miller whirled around, bringing his rifle to bear, only to lower it again when he recognized the form of Private Jenkins, one of his soldiers.
"Lieutenant!" He shouted over the sounds of simulated gunfire. "Third platoon's down to fifty percent up on the rim, Lieutenant Zeal wants to know what our status is down here sir!"
"Not good private!" He shouted, leaning around the edge of his cover and spraying red lasers down the range accompanied by the sound of automatic rifle fire. "Second squad got caught down below and were chewed up, the survivors are with first squad over there!" He gestured across to the other side of the canyon to another group of about a dozen soldiers all taking cover behind a rock formation and trying to take potshots at the other soldiers, who were similarly holed up, but on much higher ground.
"They're pinned down, and we can't get to 'em cause every time someone sticks their head out they get nailed! The damn bastards took the higher ground, and our machine-gunner team was caught below when the shooting started." He paused and simulated reloading his weapon. At least they don't have ammo counters. He thought grimly. But it would be nice if we had radios.
"What do we do sir?"
"Tell Lt Zeal I want suppressive fire on the enemy positions, I'll make a run for the machine gun and give the rest of first squad covering fire and get 'em back in the fight. Does third platoon still have their machine gunner?"
"Yes sir!" The Private cringed as two more lasers flashed by and the simulation produced a sound like bullets whizzing passed.
"Good, get up there and tell her the plan. When you're ready put two rounds passed my position here. I'll make my move ten seconds later."
"Sir, yes sir!" He turned to leave but then the lighting of the room turned red and an alarm began blaring, accompanied by a female voice.
"Simulation terminated. Simulation terminated."
"Ah crap." Lt Miller sighed and slung his rifle over his back. He then jumped down and helped up the groggy private on the canyon floor to his feet.
"The next time I say stay low until I say so Private, you do, understand?"
"Yes sir, sorry sir, it won't happen again."
"You'd better, cause next time it'll be real." A familiar voice said.
They both turned and saw Captain Cordo standing there, his arms crossed. Reflexes took over and they snapped to attention and raised their hands in a salute. "Good afternoon sir!"
"Jesus, get your hands down you two! Never salute in a combat zone, it just tells the enemy who our leaders are. This may be a simulation, but you've got to get in the habit, understand me?"
"Sir, yes sir!" The two intoned at the same time.
"Good," Cordo grunted. "I'd hate to have to put a Lieutenant and a Private on toilet detail at the same time, it looks bad to the men. Lieutenant, inform the other platoon leaders that we've got new orders. Assemble everyone and I'll give this group the run-down."
"Yes, sir" Miller acknowledged. He didn't know why, but at the Captain's words he felt an odd thrum of foreboding. He shook it off and turned to face the rest of the room as the canyon structure began to flatten and become a blank white room once again.
Captain Anderson sat behind his desk and heard a knock on the door frame. He knew who it was and didn't even bother to look up from the book he was reading on the screen built into his desk. "Come in."
John Bartlett stepped through the hatch and sat down in the small, uncomfortable chair in front of the desk.
"Thanks for coming Mr. Bartlett, I'm sure you are wondering why I called you here." Captain Anderson closed the e-book and looked straight across the desk at the civilian.
"Yes, Captain, I am. I'm also a little curious as to what you were reading so avidly." He said, attempting to make small talk.
"Oh, it was a book. Two Thousand and One: A Space Odyssey by Sir Arthur C. Clarke. It was all about a mission to Saturn and its subsequent failure."
"Lovely." Bartlett deadpanned. "Wasn't that the one where the homicidal AI murdered almost all of the crew halfway there?"
"Yes, well no danger of that happening to us now is there?" Anderson joked.
It was subtle, but Anderson had known the man long enough to recognize the tightening around his eyes and the slight intake of breath at that statement. Interesting, something about that made him panic briefly. Why, though? No one in their right mind would create an AI much less put one on this vessel, not after what happened the last time we tried…
"Yes, right, no danger of that." Bartlett laughed rather convincingly, but his smile seemed a bit hollow. "Anyways, I was wondering why you called me to your office?"
"Ah yes. Now please Mr. Bartlett, level with me here. We're both men of action, it's just we apply ourselves to different arenas. I think I deserve a straight answer to my next question. There won't be a second ship, will there?"
Bartlett considered this for a long moment before answering slowly. "There really is no simple answer, Captain. I meant what I said earlier, at least partially. There's a good chance that the United States will survive this next war and I'm sure that if they do they won't just leave us twisting in the wind."
"I somehow doubt that very much, John." Captain Anderson said quietly. "The rest of the world was in bad shape, yes, and it's unlikely that they could scrape together much in the way of fighting forces, but building this ship left us weak, weak enough that with just enough luck they would have succeeded."
"And now we get to the heart of the problem." Bartlett said just as quietly. "You want to know why we gave the project the green light even if it would ruin us, financially and physically."
Anderson nodded and reached under his desk. He retrieved two glasses and a chilled snifter of brandy. He poured them each a glass and handed one to Bartlett, who accepted in with a murmured. "Thanks."
"Now, Captain." He said sipping from his glass. "The whole reason we built this ship and kept the project going boils down to a choice, one choice in fact." He took another sip and looked his old acquaintance right in the eye. "It was build this ship or consign our species to extinction."
Seeing the Captain's incredulous expression he continued. "Think about it Captain. The others, the commies would never leave us alone. Even after we both bombed the planet halfway to hell and back they still didn't yield. They were so set in their ideology, their lust for total control and power, and their belief that no matter what they knew what was best for everyone that they'd never stop. I rather suspect that that ridiculous ultimatum was just an excuse for them to declare war on us and to paint us as unreasonable for their propaganda campaigns. They'll keep coming after us until they'd ground the world beneath their heel or cracked it in half beneath us." He paused and took another drink. "And even if they somehow succeeded without stressing the planet any further, what then? Before we began construction of this ship we were the only country in decent enough shape to mount any sort of cleanup effort. The amount of resources it would take to conquer us would only make them more incapable of fixing our mistakes. And yes I do mean our. The destruction of Earth can be laid at our feet just as easily as theirs, I can give them that much at least." He sighed heavily. "At any rate even with our cleanup projects the planet was dying, everyone knew it, but no one wanted to acknowledge it, to acknowledge it would make it real, make it horrifying. Do you know what I'm saying?"
Anderson nodded and sipped his drink quietly.
"So no one wanted to say it, they couched the mission in such terms as 'establishing a new frontier for America and humanity' and 'pushing the boundaries of known science,' but we all knew deep down that this was our last hurrah, and quite possibly humanity's last chance." He finished downing his drink and stared at the bottom of the glass. "Perhaps being here, seeing the reality of what we've wrought has allowed me to voice what I've been thinking, deep down in my soul, or perhaps I am merely a rambling old man." He looked up at the Captain and handed his glass back. "Forgive me, I've no doubt taken much of your valuable time."
"No, no. I asked you here. Thank you, John, thank you for being open with me."
The older man nodded and turned to leave, but paused in the entryway. "That directive gives you full authority, whatever power I once had is now gone. You've got one chance, one chance to get things right. I'll help you any way I can Captain. Maybe together we can atone for our species' mistakes." He turned and walked down the hall.
Anderson stared at his half-full glass and downed it in one gulp. Sins of the fathers indeed. He thought grimly.
Lt Miller was sitting in one of the tiny showers in the communal bathroom, relaxing under the warm spray of water. It gave him some time to think before he turned in that night. He couldn't believe that they were being assigned to the first landing party. Well actually he'd suspected that ever since he'd woken up. What he hadn't counted on was the company being the first contact party.
This time tomorrow I will have set foot on an alien world. He was privately giddy at the prospect, but didn't allow it to show on his exterior. The water shut off automatically: his time was up. He opened the door slightly and grabbed his towel. He dried off quickly and wrapped it around his waist, stepping out the door to the hall beyond. He walked for a while and was joined by Corporal Jones, his platoon's medic, fully clothed.
"Hello sir, might I say you're looking healthy today." The dark-skinned man said seriously.
"Knock it off Corporal, I don't swing that way." Miller ground out. He was tired and just wanted his bunk.
"I don't either sir, I'm just supposed to keep an eye on all of the troops, make sure none of them have an adverse reaction to the hibernation." He said, matching step with the Lieutenant on his right. They were walking down the hall to the officers' quarters. Miller had had a bout of forgetfullness and left his clothes in his room, and having dropped his old uniform down a chute for cleaning that meant he had to traverse the (thankfully empty) halls in only his towel. To his credit the Corporal didn't question his CO's lack of attire.
"Can that even happen? I thought they ran tests on that junk."
"Yes, sir, they did. But no one's been in hibernation for this long before. We have no idea what might happen. Although frankly, sir, it's not any of us I'm concerned about. I'm more worried about the older members of the crew."
They had reached the officers' quarters and were standing in the doorway. "Why is that, corporal?" Miller asked, his interest piqued.
"Well, sir, it's just they imposed an age restriction on the crew for a reason, that's why we didn't bring any generals along for the ride." Lt Miller nodded, he knew all of this already. "That means that they had some very good reasons for not letting people older than sixty into hibernation. I know it isn't issues with lifespans, a sixty year old can remain fit and healthy for decades even with the limited equipment we brought with us. That tells me that they had some serious reservations about the technology, hence I'm keeping my eyes open, sir." He shook his head slightly. "I'm sorry sir, I'm probably just being paranoid, but it never hurts to be too careful."
"Right, right." Miller said. "Well, if you notice anything wrong with anyone inform me or Captain Cordo immediately, understand?"
"Yes, sir. Have a good evening sir." He turned and walked away down the hall.
Miller opened the door to his room and flipped on the lights. He closed and latched the door behind him and took a deep breath, listening to the hum of the air circulation system.
He took two steps forward before a red-hot spike of pain wedged itself into his brain. His eyes rolled up in his head and Lt Miller fell to the floor, unconscious.
A/N:
Whew, that was a dozy. Thanks for reading and remember that reviews give me more motivation to write faster, so please review. Anyways I had a lot of fun with this chapter and can't wait to start the next one.
Alucard'T'Polterguise: Thanks and yeah, there are some vibes from Pandorum in this story, but that's not the direction it's going to go. If you want a good idea on the general plot of this story think "Aliens" with a dash of Mass Effect and Starship Troopers. (The book not the rather Godawful film)
RisuQ-theQissilent: Thanks, and I haven't even gotten to the actual parts with the combat yet, that's next chapter.
Oh, and here are some notes for those who might be confused on the general military jargon and organization. If you still have a question leave a review and I'll answer it next time, and I promise you that there's plenty more where this came from.
A Company is a term used to describe large group of soldiers numbering roughly 150 people at a time and is led by a Captain. The term company is only used in the Army and the Marines. They usually consist of three or four Platoons (described below). The company commanding officer (CO) is assisted by their executive officer (XO) who is usually a 1st Lieutenant (one rank below Captain). Companies are usually given a designation in the phonetic alphabet. (ie: Alpha Company, Bravo Company, Charlie Company, etc.)
A Platoon is a a fairly large group of soldiers numbering around forty or so. A Platoon is typically led by a 2nd Lieutenant (lowest officer rank) or a 1st Lieutenant (Which is what Miller and Zeal are). Platoons also contain a Platoon Sergeant, whose job is to assist the commanding officer of the Platoon and generally keep the enlisted personnel in line. Platoons can be broken up into Fireteams (sometimes called squads) of a dozen troops or so. Doing the math this means roughly three Fireteams per Platoon. Each Fireteam is led by a Sergeant. Platoons and Fireteams are each given a number for a designation, however with Platoons the number comes first, while the opposite is true for Fireteams (aka: First Platoon and Fireteam Two)
One last note, you may be confused as to why Captain Cordo is calling Captain Anderson "Sir" when apparently they are the same rank. That's because in the Navy, a Captain is the equivalent of a Colonel, which is three ranks higher than Captain Cordo is. And just because the Navy likes confusing you, they also use the rank Lieutenant differently than the other service branches. A Naval Lieutenant is technically the same rank as a Captain in every other service. Confused? Sorry, I tried my best, if you still have questions go look up a ranking system chart for the United States military.