In 2215, six years after humanity was attacked by the brutal Rulvalar, the battered but victorious survivors formed the Sol Colonial Alliance. Made up of the six major colonies ( Venus Orbital, Mars, Luna, Phobos, Jupiter Conglomerate, and Outland Neptune.) along with Earth, its job was to govern and protect the Sol system and expand mankind's territory. One of the first major jobs it undertook was the occupation of the Rulvalar homeworlds, located three full null-space jumps from the station at O.N.(outland neptune).
Pride and arrogance were trademarks of the Rulvalar psyche, and many within the S.C.A. thought genocide would be the final outcome, but the Rulvalar were unaccustomed to defeat. They had conquered several other species without much resistance, and were in a general state of shock at their loss to the humans. When the final battles were complete, and the first occupation troops landed, one would have thought being vanquished was a regular occurance.
Commander Alton Chase stared out from the bridge of the S.C.S. (sol colony
ship) Journeyman, onto the ravaged surface of Rulvalan Beta. She was the
last world to fall to the S.C.A. and had suffered massive damage to her
ecosystem in the process. Chase's mission was to evacuate several million
Rulvalar to other occupied planets to allow the repair process to begin.
The Corp of Terrestrial Engineering had moved in with hundreds of
terraformers to begin the clean-up. Estimates figured in at 10 to 15 years
before life on the planet would return to a semblance of normalcy, if the
projects didn't run into any delays.
--MHal9000
The Communications officer looked to Chase. "Commander Chase, we are receiving a long range null space transmission from an unknown source."
"On screen, Ensign." Chase replied.
A strange alien face appeared on the view screen. It was smooth and curved with no sharp edges, and it seems to lack any features other than large, silvery eyes. "To all Human military units: We are the Zhakri, Caretakers of the Rulvalar." it said in a soft, almost singing voice. "The Humans have unjustly invaded the territory of our ward, the Rulvalar. Leave Rulvalar space immediately or we will be forced to take action. We, the Zhakri have been spacefarers for three thousand years, you would not survive our attack."
Council of Caretakers Assembly House Planet Domaea, Weitak System
"Your people have made a grave error, Representative Munvi." said Orkanth, the Borloki Representative at the Council of Caretakers. "The Borloki will not stand for this!"
Munvi snorted indignantly. "We Zhakri had every right to intervene in the Human/Rulvalar War. We could not allow our ward to be destroyed."
"But the Rulvalar attacked the Humans!" said the Representative from Gorshin. "If a predator makes a den near your fields and feeds on your livestock, do you not kill it?"
"The Borloki will be forced to defend the Humans, as we almost did when the Rulvalar were winning the war." said Orkanth, grimacing in the hideous way his people did. His eyes rose nearly to the height of his nose and his mouth wrinkled into a zig-zag pattern, as his large, red ears flapped wildly. "If defending our ward means war with the Zhakri, then so be it!"
"We do not intend to destroy the Humans, merely to drive them out of Zhakri space." Munvi said diplomatically.
"The existence of the belligerent Rulvalar is a threat to Human survival, my people will not allow your meddling!"
Munvi stood and flared his usually hidden chin nostrils in a rare Zhakri
display of anger. "Then it will be war then!"
--Bald Locust (kunra@usa.net)
Unknown to anyone in the chamber, Humanity stood a much better chance of defending itself than anyone could've realized. Ten years before the end of the war, an archelolgical team discovered a ruined base on Io which dated back several hundred thousand years. Remarkably, it had remained intact under the violent surface of the moon and had many secrets to share with its discoverers. Organic machinery, fantastic methods of intergalactic travel, generators which could produce terrawatts of energy, yet fit inside the palm of the hand. The few things which were deciphered first proved enough to change the tide of battle, and ultimately provide the victory. By the time the war was ended, scientists had broken through 40% of the work they had laid out before them. Radical new ship designs were being tested, and older ships were quickly being retrofitted with new weapons, and drive units. This was being done under the most secretive campaign ever conducted by any military in the history of man. It would prove to be a rude awakening for the Zhakri.
Rulvalan Beta-S.C.S. Journeyman
Commander Chase looked back to his comm. officer. "Send a tight beam code to Admiral Jensen. Inform him of our situation and ask for a course of action. Then see if you can pinpoint the source of that transmission."
"Working on it now sir"
"Admiral Jensen, we are recieving a message from the ocupation fleet around Rulvalan Beta. Its coded and hot sir!"
"Put it through to my desk Lieutenant"
Admiral Clifford Jensen, a 35 year veteran of the SCA Navy, took in a sharp breath when he read the transmission. Another belligerant species, possibly with the power to undo everything Humanity had just fought so hard for. It seemed the time to try some of the new ship designs that had surfaced.
"Reply back to Commander Chase, inform him to remove all ships incapable of combat. Then begin first contact protocols, and let him know the 6th fleet is on its way."
"Yes sir."
"After that inform all ships in the fleet of our new destination, and open a coded channel to SCA Central and link it to my desk."
"I'll have it done for you in the minute sir" His fingers slid across his work station with skilled ease. Messages went hurtling through the void of null space, filling the space around the 6th fleet with hundreds of messages. Responses were instantaneous, as engines flared to life, and navigational computers began to communicate to each other. Commander Chase recieved his message, sending him into immediate action.
"Contact all the CTE(corp of terrestrial engineering) ships, tell them we are entering red alert status and tell them to move back to the Rashida system. Inform the rest of the fleet we are going to red alert, and then send the standard F.C. greeting back along the route you recieved that first message from"
"Aye sir!"
"SCA Central Operations Center, what can we do for you Admiral?"
"Tell Fleet Admiral Payne I need to speak with him now. It concerns the 6th fleet and specifically the 11th wing."
--MHal9000
The tense pause before Admiral Payne responded lasted only a few seconds, but it felt like hours. "Admiral Jensen, is there an emergency?"
"There appears to be one. I'm transmitting a message to you that I recieved moments ago from Commander Chase of the SCS Journeyman. An advanced race known as the Zhakri has threatened war unless we withdraw from Rulvalar space. I'm hoping this conflict can be resolved diplomatically, but I felt it might be wise to unveil the Ares Battlcruisers as a precaution. We may be required to institute the Io technology sooner than we expected."
--Argus Skyhawk
Commander Chase stiffened at the prospect. The technological potential of Io based weaponry was largely unexplored. The job's the job, he thought to himself. But he chilled at the thought.
He reentered the bridge and mounted his com chair with a sullen cast to his face. If the Zhakri were announcing their intent, it would be logical to conclude their preparations were already in place. Wait until your weapon is pointing at the other fellow's groin before you cheerfully announce your intent. Then, pull your trigger.
He laughed in spite of himself.
Chase' reputation as a warrior during the Rulvalarian campaign was nothing short of an illustration of ruthless opportunism in the SCA. No chance of any career advancement in peace, he thought. Only blood can purchase my future; blood and screams.
"Pilot!" he growled. "Give me a median orbit. Full battle readiness. I want nanosecond scan updates and full readiness on all cutters. We're at full red code, ladies and gentlemen and I want my claws sharp and my eyes wide open. Consider this a death's head protocol situation."
"Commander?" inquired Pilot Silvera as he feverishly operated the controls. "We need situation input, sir."
"Death's head protocol, pilot."
Death's head protocol wasn't a common practice even in times of high conflict with SCA ships, but on the Journeyman it was standard operation procedure. Any infraction, even unintentional mistakes were considered battle treason punishable by instantaneous execution at the commander's discretion. It had been noted that Chase's record might have been written in Rulvalarian blood, the highlights were underlined in human gore as well. This philosophy, though barbaric, was the key to successful human expansionism into hostile space.
The Journeyman slid into the upper atmosphere like a scalpel.
Don't wait for the first move. Await the first sign. Kill it when you see it and apologize, tearfully, at safer moment.
"Any replies to our transmits?" he spoke.
"Nothing but sphere songs, commander. Static."
"Craus! Power up the retrofittings, I want that Io weaponry online ... NOW."
"ONLINE," shouted Craus, he been working feverishly on this task since hearing the words 'death's head'.
There was low hum in the deck plates and a shuddering new presence of tremendous power.
"Very good, gunner Craus. On alert, go to first option shield pulse at my command, don't resort to the Io weapons until I tell you to, comp?"
"Comp, commander."
Now the Journey slid quiet and quick. Reading five hundred kilometers of expanse in all directions and updating this information a full three thousand times a second. Any intrusion by so radical an unknown as the Zhakri would be instantly noted and acted on.
It was quite a surprise when a Zhakri battleship happened to suddenly appear forty meters from the forward sensor plates.
"PILOT EVADE, VADIS ONE. CRAUS SHIELD PULSE ACTIVE NOW!"
Journeyman spiraled like a whirlpool as an energy shield with the density of a five-meter wide wall of solid gold expanded instantaneously across the expanse. It shattered like candy glass against the hull of the Zhakri vessel, which in turn fired twenty pulse rivotters.
"Primitive offensive capabilities," whispered Chase. Journeyman spun evaded the gleaming ion charges with ease. Inwardly, Chase was amazed by the lack of effect had by the shield pulse. Tactically, shield pulse first resort strikes were preemptive in nature and always successful. The Zhakri didn't even notice.
Craus was already hard on the pulse laser targeting system when Chase ordered the ship into Clovis evasive configuration. He glanced at the tactical board to see the Zhakri ship's overall design. So weird, he thought absently, like the severed hand of a woman cast in Platinum. No indication of engine design, drive orientation, weapon ports, or any external system what-so-ever.
Don't stare too long.
Or you risk the suddenly implementation of article one of Death's Head protocol, a sudden case of high voltage brain destruction.
Twenty pulse lasers targeted random sites all over the pursuant Zhakri ship as it moved in response to the Journeyman's almost clumsy evasive motions.
"FIRE THE PULSE LASERS"
Don't stare too long.
The pulse laser lapped at the Zhakri like tongues of flame. Each struck its target. No effect.
Chase stiffened.
Tough nut to crack. His first and second offensive strikes were as nothing against the gleaming hull of the craft that cruised toward the Journeyman like an old man.
What to do.
Deuterium rain. Jordan fleck missiles. No. It was time to walk in unknown territory.
"All right."
The bridge crew spun about in their chairs.
"Target the Io retro fit. The seven through nine options. We've got no choice. Glenville, read me the specs."
Glenville brought the data up on the main screen. The specs were nearly incomprehensible. The operation equation read like a theoretical quantum statement on photon/temporal interplay.
"The theory behind these options is that a temporal jump wave will age the target beyond its ability to exist as a threat. The backlash may have some damage potential for us as well. It's recommended that a null space jump be initiated immediately after activation."
Chase pursed his lips.
"Specifics on the backlash effect."
"It's possible that a lesser temporal effect will engulf us as well. We'll age into dust," stated Glenville with his characteristic smirk. Chase wanted to beat him to death with a wrench.
"Arrange the tactic now, mister. Coordinate with Craus."
"Coordinating, sir. Tactic implementation in twenty seconds."
"SIR," shouted the scanmaster. "I'm reading a power buildup on the Zhakri pulse rivotters."
"Maintain your positions."
"Power levels at red on the lower grids, Commander. The Io weapons are charging, but the levels aren't even, permission to implement auxiliary conduits."
"Permission given. Maintain your positions."
"Rivotters firing, sir. They've targeted our phasing conductors."
"Ten seconds for tactic implementation."
"MAINTAIN YOUR POSITIONS."
"RIVOTTORS EN ROUTE, SIR. TWENTY. CONTACT IMMINENT."
"MAINTAIN YOUR POSITIONS."
"Five seconds for tactic implementation."
"We can't evade the rivotters using Clovis evasive, sir. Contact imminent."
"MAINTAIN YOUR POSITIONS."
All eyes turned to Glenville. He stared intently into his monitor. The smirk now quite nonexistent.
"TACTIC IMPLEMENTATION IS NOW!"
Screaming.
A high pitched wail shattered Glenville's eardrums one nanosecond before his exploding control monitor tore his face from his skull and distributed it about the bridge in a red spray of sparks and meat.
Screaming.
Chase fell to the floor clutching his ears and cursing like card cheat caught in the act. The bridge substructure shook and pitched and the emergency lighting cast the chaos in hues of crimson light. On the viewer the pulse rivotters winked out like candle flames pitted against a typhoon.
SCREAMING.
The Zhakri ship floundered, determined to ride though the spatial distortion now rushing into it. Useless. Dying. Overwhelmed in the power of a hideous death unenvisioned in even the most twisted Zhakri nightmare. The platinum hull dulled, glowed and ripped away, layer by layer like an onion. Like the sandblasted skin of a woman's severed hand.
SCREEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIINNNNNNNNNGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGG!
Then, darkness and silence.
"Status," whispered Chase.
Silence.
"Unknown," replied an unknown voice after several eternities.
Chase rose. Everything he had hurt.
The viewer image burst into focus. Space. Normal. The comfort of the glowing stars warmed him like a mother's embrace.
The screaming had come from Chase.
--James K. Helkowski
What happens next? You decide. Write a sentence, write a paragraph then send it to me and I will add it to the story.
The picture above was provided by James Helkowski.
