Meh
Dark Days
Lieutenant Derek Page woke up, the blue glow of subspace illuminating his cramped, junior officers quarters aboard the Hecate class destroyer Black Friday. He’d never been able to sleep all that well in subspace, probably the eerie whine that permeated the whole of the destroyer. Even the most advanced noise dampeners couldn’t mask the vibrations of an entire ship. He looked up at the chrono; it’s green figures somewhat dim in the blue glow. 0412, Earth standard time. His shift began in 48 minutes. All the GTVA ships ran off Earth standard time, but time didn’t really mean all that much off planet, with no sun to announce the beginning and end of the day. Apart from the beginning and end of duty ships, he didn’t pay much attention to the chrono. He slept when he was tired, and that was all he needed to remember. He swung his legs of the side of his bed and sat up, rubbing sleep sand from his eyes. Reaching over to the draw beside the bed he gathered up his uniform and began to dress, in his blue non-combat uniform.
He was still buttoning his shirt when a small beep announced someone was at the door. “Rise and shine, sleepyhead!” came the falsetto voice from the intercom. “There’s pancakes for breakfast!” Page grinned a little. “Get in here, Frank!” The door slid open silently and a tall man with brown hair and eyes entered the room. Frank Marsden was Page’s second in Alpha wing, and also his best friend. “What’re you doing still getting dressed?” his voice had reverted to it’s normal pitch now, but the wide grin was still firmly on his face. “There really are pancakes for breakfast, and if we don’t get there soon, Mark and Sylvia will have got ‘em all.”
“Just give me a minute.” Derek had by now finished buttoning up his shirt and pulled on his socks. “Chuck us my boots, would you?” Frank complied, and Derek began lacing them up. “Hear we’ve got a new assignment?”
“Yeah?” asked Derek, “I hope it’s better than convoy guarding again. I’m getting a bit sick of listening to Zephyrus pilots go on and on about how exciting the life of a fighter pilot must be.”
“Apparently it is. I couldn’t get any specifics out of Miller, and I was hoping you’d know something.”
“I’m as much in the dark as you are.” Said Derek, running a comb through his short, black hair. “I suppose we’ll have to wait until briefing this morning.”
“Yeah. Hey, you gonna starve me or what? Those pancakes are getting cold.”
“I’m coming.” Page put down his comb and followed Frank out the door, towards the transport pod junction, down the hall from the junior officers quarters. The mess was located near the crew quarters, but several floors up, so the ability for lateral motion of the pods wouldn’t be necessary. Derek was the first to admit that it was useful. Walking the 2.something kilometres every time you wanted to get from Engineering to the bridge would have been a strain on both time and energy. They entered the pod and pressed the appropriate button for the mess hall. They exited the pod into the large mess hall; it’s long tables reminding Derek, as always, of the summers he’d spent on camp on Vega 3. He and Frank went to the window and received the promised pancakes, before making their way to their usual spot, at the end of the right hand table. The rest of Alpha wing, Sylvia Black, a short, red headed woman with a disposition to match her hair, and Mark Murdoch, a tallish, lanky young man, with black curly hair, only a few month was already, were already there. “’Bout time you two showed up.” Said Sylvia, her apparent grumpiness so common by now that neither Derek nor Frank paid it any attention. “Me and Mark were just about to appropriate ourselves a few more pancakes. I doubt there’d be any left by now though.” She was eyeing the steaming stacks hungrily. Without waiting for permission, or even bothering to ask, she reached over and grabbed one of Frank’s, rolling it up and biting a large piece off the end. “Hey!”
Sylvia grinned around her pancake. She swallowed and said “If you hadn’t wasted so much time, you could have gotten here earlier, when I had my own, couldn’t you?”
“Au contraire, my dear. It was in fact our revered leader who was holding us up. Perhaps next time you’d be so good as to steal one of his pancakes.”
Derek smiled at that. The fencing between them was as regular as Sylvia’s apparent grumpiness. It was no secret that the two of them liked each other, but neither was willing to openly admit it.
“If you two are quite finished,” Said Derek, hiding the grin behind an authoritarian scowl, “I was wondering if either of you knew anything about this new assignment we’re supposed to be getting.”
Sylvia shrugged. “No one does. But whatever it is, it must have been important to pull us out of Vega and leave us in this hole.” She gestured towards the large window at the back of the mess hall. ‘This hole’ as she put it, was in fact Laramis, Four jumps and 6 hours travelling time from Vega, their usual assignment. Frank looked up at the large chrono above the tables in the mess hall. “Well” he said, “We have briefing in twenty minutes, so I suppose we’ll find out then. They finished their breakfast quickly after that, and went to the briefing as a group. They sat down in the second row of the briefing room about five minutes before it began. Derek used the time to survey ‘his’ squadron, and their briefing room.
In reality, of course, it wasn’t his squadron. Technically, Lieutenant Commander Jak Pieterson was Squadron Commander, but, as a bomber pilot, he chose to not take the traditional place as Alpha 1, but rather, he ran Zeta wing, one of the squads only two bomber wings. The 201st Sacred Sabres were theoretically a space superiority squadron, but after the war, the value of squadron diversity became known, and most squads these days had space superiority, bombers, heavy assault, interceptors, even an intel or recon pilot or two. There were twelve wings in the 201st, about average for a Hecate squadron, and they shared the ship with two other squadrons.
Commander Pieterson walked in from the hallway and stood at the front of the room. “Alright boys, and girls listen up.” He said, as a way of getting attention. Admiral Jamison has Captain Miller holed up in one of those senior officer meetings he’s so fond of, so it’s fallen to me to brief you on your new assignment. Now I know most of you are gonna be disappointed, but we won’t be guarding convoys for the next few weeks.” Laughs and a few cheers greeted this remark. Derek was not the only one unenthusiastic about escort duty. “Anyway, we have something a bit more serious, namely this.” He pressed a button on the small remote he was holding, and the image behind him changed from the GTVA logo to an intel screen, apparently on a lump of rusted black metal. There was silence in the room, broken a few seconds later by a pilot somewhere up the back of the room. “Well, I don’t know what it is, but it sure as hell looks more interesting than a freighters behind. What is it, Jak?”
“It’s a piece of debris from a pirate Aten which the GTC Andromeda destroyed about a week ago. The debris was routinely scanned and this came up. Apparently, it’s a piece of a Shivan fighter.”
This time the silence in the room was not broken by jokes, but rather, stayed absolutely quiet until the commander continued his brief. “Intel isn’t sure what this means, but they aren’t taking any chances. While it could just be a piece from the old conflict that they picked up somewhere, command has assumed a worst-case scenario, and sent us here. We have two primary objectives. First, we’re to attempt to find out as much as possible about this pirate group, specifically where and how they acquired a Shivan fighter, whether the fighter was whole when they got it, whether they can get more and what the hell they wanted with the thing anyway. If necessary, we’re to infiltrate the group, though we might be getting some hot shot SOC’s to do that for us. Secondly, we’re to determine whether or not there’s a Shivan threat from this system, and neutralize it if there is.” The silence continues as the Commander surveyed the affect of his words. “If there are no questions, I guess I can move on to today’s duty roster.”
* * *
It was unusually quiet in the hangar bay as Page entered, no klaxons blaring alarm, no rush of fighter exhaust, not even any mechanics shouting between fighters as they worked on them. None of the ships fighters had encountered any enemies over the last week and a half, and even before that it had been quiet. As a result, most of the regular fighter mechanics had been temporarily reassigned to engineering or ship systems work. There was, however, one mechanic still there, working patiently in the back corner on an old Apollo class fighter. “How’s she doing?” Page asked the mechanic.
The mechanic had been working on the starboard engine, on the opposite side to the Lieutenant and hadn’t seen him coming. “Haven’t you got anything better to do than sneaking around, startling old men out of their skin?” The mechanic was right about one thing – he was old, or at least older than most of the men and women on board the Black Friday. His hair was cropped short and snowy white, but he showed not the slightest sign of baldness, nor of the paunch, which often seems to find older men. His eyes, however, were deep blue and forever young. “No,” replied Page, “Not really. How’s she doing?” he repeated his question.
“Let’s just say you’re gonna owe me big for fixing this hulk” replied the old mechanic.
“It can’t be that bad Rob.”
“Of course it’s that bad. How else would you be able to afford it on junior officers wages?”
Page had picked up the craft during shore leave aboard the GTI Obelisk two days ago in Vega, their last stop before they had begun their tour in Laramis. The terran merchant who’d sold it to him had made an excellent price, and Page had jumped at the opportunity to buy his own craft. He’d had to cut through light years of red tape to finally get permission to take it on board, and then spend over an hour dragooning Rob into looking at getting it flying again. The mechanic's less than enthused demeanour had begun to make it all seem like a waste of time.
“Exactly what’s wrong with it?” He asked, frowning.
“How much time do you have? The intersystem drive’s shot, the reactor’s only pumping at about 63, your starboard engines about to fall off, there’re hairline fractures in the cockpit, the shield motivator refuses to stabilize and half the relays in your weapons subsystem’ve fused. And those’re just the highlights. There’re hundreds of little problems in virtually every system. You probably couldn’t even break even if you sold it as spare parts.”
“So you can’t even get it to fly?”
“Sure I can,” said the old mechanic, dripping with sarcasm, “as long as you don’t want to breathe, manoeuvre, fire your weapons or get shot at, or jump into subspace, of course I can get it flying.”
Page sighed. He wasn’t in the mood for the Mechanics peculiar idea of humour. “Just give me some numbers Rob. How long and how much?”
“If me and my boys could work for full shifts, 7 days a week, with all the parts we need, I could have it workable in just over a week. With no help, spare parts coming in whenever you can afford them, and putting in a half hour or so when I’ve got some spare time, I could have it back to you in just under a year. At best.”
“A year?”
“At best.” Replied the mechanic firmly. “Possibly two. And as for how much, I’d say at least 1700, assuming there’re no more problems than I’ve already found.”
“1700!” exclaimed Page, incredulously? He’d only paid 600 for the craft, but it was going to cost almost three times that to repair. He sighed again, dejectedly. “Forget it. When I get home, I’ll sell it off for spare parts, maybe make some of my money back.”
The old mechanic softened a bit. “Look, I’ll see what I can do. Maybe get your engines back up, manoeuvring thrusters, maybe even look at that subspace drive. If I can get it to go forwards, you might be able to get it into a convoy, get it towed back to Vega. From there, who knows what’ll happen. You might even get lucky and pick up a few spare credits. Have it done by one of the civilian mechanics.”
“Yeah, maybe. Thanks Rob.”
“No worries, Derek. Don’t look so down. I haven’t finished all the scans yet. Who knows what we’ll turn up. You may be sitting on a gold mine yet.” Page nodded, then turned to leave, heading back to the simulator. He’d just spent an hour in there, as part of his training, but he really felt like blowing something up right now. As he recalled, that trader had run out of an old Satis freighter, and he was sure the simulator had a few of those somewhere in it’s memory banks.
It was not to be however. He was on his way to the pod junction when Jak called out to him. “Hey, Derek, wait up!” He did. He’d always rather liked Jak anyway, and he did outrank him after all. “What’s up?”
“You remember that Apollo I picked up on the Obelisk the other day?” Asked Page
“Yeah, a real bargain that.”
“Heh, I wish. Rob reckons it’ll cost 1700 to repair, and that’s just spare parts. Probably a year too.”
Jak whistled. “That’s too bad. It really seemed like a good deal.”
“Yeah, I know.” Page sighed. “What did you want to talk about anyway?”
“That Aten mostly. There’s something about it you need to know.”
“What’s there to know? It was an Aten with a bit of Shivan debris in it. Aten’s aren’t exactly a major threat, and for all we know, that piece of Shivan debris could have come from the Great War.”
“Funny you should mention that. After they found the piece of Shivan fighter, they gathered up the rest of the debris and ran through it with a fine-toothed comb. Nothing too out of the ordinary, but not too much survived. They did come up with one interesting thing however. Not even a single bit of the central compute core survived.”
“So what? It was probably ripped apart in the internal explosions. Computer cores are fairly delicate.”
“Normally I’d agree with you, but not in Atens-Which way were you going?” They’d reached the junction. “Well, I’d planned on spending an hour or so blasting Satii into little bits.”
“What?” asked Jak, puzzled.
“Never mind. I think I’ll go pull some records instead, see what I can come up with on Apollo repair, maybe there’s an easy bit I can help Rob with, or maybe if I can transplant some bits and pieces that we don’t need any more.”
“Whatever. “They stepped into the pod, and Jak pressed the button for the Tech Room. “Anyway, as I was saying, they didn’t find even a single piece of computer core, and that’s all but unheard of in Atens. You see, they weren’t always cruisers. They were originally science vessels, the Vasudans just beefed them up a little for the TV war. Anyway, the Vasudans didn’t want to lose any possibly useful data that a science vessel might have collected if it was blown up, so the Aten had some of the strongest armour around it’s computer core of any ship, ever. These days they’re entirely used as cruisers, but the design still calls for heavy shielding around the core, so the Vasudans still make it, even though it’s not necessary. Whenever you destroy an Aten, you almost always get at least a part of the computer core surviving the explosions.”
This time Page was puzzled “So, what does it mean?”
“There was only ever one exception. The Hammer of Light. During the Great War, they didn’t want anyone to get hold of one of their computer cores, so they all but removed the shielding. The core was often the first thing to go on HoL Atens.”
“HoL? Didn’t they worship the Shivans?”
“Sort of. Enough to fight against us in the Great war anyway, using kamikaze tactics even. So when a piece of Shivan fighter turns up on an Aten who’s computer core doesn’t survive an explosion…” The implications were obvious, but Page voiced them anyway. “You think they’re back?”
The pod doors slid open as they arrived at the tech room, and Jak shrugged. “It looks that way from here, but we can’t be sure. Look, do me a favour and keep this kind of quiet. You can tell your wing mates, but I’d rather not have it noised all over the ship, if you catch my drift.”
“Does the Admiral know?”
“I haven’t told him, but he may. I’m not sure whether to insult his intelligence by pointing it out or not.”
Page had begun to get an odd, and not entirely pleasant feeling about the whole business. “You’d better risk it. I’m getting a bad feeling about this. I think I’m going to change my research topic. History just got a whole lot more interesting.”
Jak nodded as Derek stepped out of the pod. The doors slid closed in front of him and he returned to his musings in silence.
The tech room was even quieter than the hanger bay had been, and Derek had a little trouble adjusting. He made his way to an unused terminal and sat down. He signed in and selected the records section. His query on the Hammer of Light brought a large amount of information, so he clicked on the summary.
Summary
The dark side of the Vasudan obsession with history was the emergence during the Great War of Hammer of Light (HoL), a cult that gained a strong following among the PVN, resulting in defections to the HoL cause. The HoL believed the Shivans were the cosmic redeemers and destroyers predicted in obscure prophecies written thousands of years ago. Following the destruction of the Lucifer, the ideology and activities of Hammer of Light shifted.
While some followers committed ritual suicide, the military branch of the movement continued their armed opposition to the Vasudan government and its alliance with the Terrans. Though they continued to espouse HoL's religious dogma, their activities turned more toward acts of terrorism and guerrilla warfare. This branch of the HoL was later crushed in Operation Templar, following the HoL's kidnapping of the Vasudan admiralty. Other HoL leaders vanished into obscurity, returning to the study of arcane texts. A number of these religious leaders were apprehended and imprisoned for their role in the insurgency, though a few are still in hiding.
More Information?
Derek read through the information in silence, occasionally glancing at the simple yet chilling logo to the right of the summary sheet. He selected more information and continued to read
Religion
The Hammer of Light first emerged only a very short time after the arrival of the Shivans, prompting some suspicion from the Vasudan government of the time. It would have been a supreme act of organizing to establish what was a coherent system of beliefs surrounding an Alien race, which they had never known existed in such a small time. The theory that they had already encountered the Shivans, possibly even before the destruction of the GTI Riviera in Ross 128 in early 2335.
However they encountered them, it was only a short time after that a group of Vasudan priests discovered the similarities between these aliens and the ‘Great Destroyers’ mentioned in a series of obscure Vasudan prophecies. They revealed this to the Vasudan people and, while the official government response was predictably one of disbelief, many of the common vasudans were shocked, and their religious and historical views suggested extreme measures should be taken to assist what many now believed were Gods. A few standard days after their discovery was revealed a new religion, it’s membership already in the thousands and growing daily had been formed, and a few days after this, they began actively assisting the Shivans, and opposing both the GTA and the PVN in a particularly savage manner, in part at least because they felt it was for the good of the GTA and PVN. Originally, the base religious motive of the HoL was a good one.
More information?
A particularly savage group of fanatical Vasudans, willing to Kamikaze for the Shivans was reappearing 32 years after they had supposedly been wiped out? The bad feeling was getting worse as Derek read on
Military
The HoL, while originally formed as a religious organization, had the same ultimate intentions as the Shivans did – the complete and total annihilation of both the Vasudan and Human races. To do this they required a military, and they enlisted this in the same way as they enlisted religious members. Whole Typhon crews of 10 000 would defect en masse, with those who did not agree with HoL dogma being quickly and efficiently disposed of. Soon, the HoL had an imposing fleet, and some of the best Vasudan military minds in their society to command it. The damage they caused, particularly in an already confused and volatile situation such as that which prevailed during the Great War, was catastrophic. Their willingness to kamikaze was well documented, as was their common tactic of posing as members of the PVN. Their activities strained almost to breaking point an alliance, which was already tenuous.
Operation Templar
After the Lucifer had been defeated, the Hammer of Light’s ideologies shifted, and their actions followed suit. Some of the most extreme committed ritual suicide, but the military branch remained strong and, though maintaining a façade of Religion, they became little more than terrorists, sniping at GTA/PVN convoys and cruiser patrols, attacking supply depots etc. Their aim now seemed to have shifted from the destruction of the Vasudan race towards the destruction of the Vasudan government, and the dissolution of the GTA/PVN alliance, which the destruction of the Lucifer had strengthened. Their grip on the shipyards of the Sahr Corporation in Altair meant that they could replenish their fleet, even though the number of religious defectors had fallen to a trickle. Eventually, they had the resources and ships to build a large, powerful fleet, but not the manpower to control such a fleet. It was this which led them to make the mistake, which would ultimately end their rebellion.
The HoL captured and held several members of the Vasudan admiralty, intending to use them as bargaining chips. However, this angered both the Terrans and Vasudans, causing them to launch the biggest joint operation since the Great War – Operation Templar. A series of battles with the HoL saw the stunning defeat of the HoL’s military wing, and a significant number of their religious leaders as well. Of those that escaped, some were captured, but many escaped, returning to their study of ancient texts, and possibly the training and instruction of a new generation of cultists. However, without the Shivans as a rallying point, and with the memory of Operation Templar, it is unlikely that the HoL will ever pose a significant threat again.
More information?
Derek leaned back in his chair, and thought over what he’d just read. The Hammer of Light had created havoc for the GTA and the PVN in the already dangerous times of the Great War. And now they had returned. He left the file and got up from the desk. The terminal would log him off if no bio-signature was detected at the station in the next 60 seconds. He left for the transport pod door and pressed the button calling one to him. If it were true, and the HoL were reappearing, then their sojourn in Laramis might not be so uninteresting after all.
* * *
Derek’s dreams were troubled that night, haunted by chilling images of Shivan fighters and laughing vasudans. He awoke early, at least two hours before his shift began with the feeling that his fitful sleep had done him more harm than good. He dressed hurriedly, and headed for the mess hall for some coffee to clear his head. It was quite crowded, the previous shift jostling with the early risers of Derek’s. He got his coffee from the window and went to Alpha wings table, but found it occupied by a group he didn’t recognize. He found an unoccupied table about two tables away and sat, sipping the hot coffee, his mind miles away. So far away in fact that he didn’t notice the gradual emptying off the mess hall, or the slow refilling as the rest of his shift began to drift in. That was until there was a tap on his shoulder. “You gonna sit there all day?”
It was Sylvia. “You’re up early.” He remarked.
“Early?” she asked, incredulously. “I almost overslept. Shift starts in half an hour.” Derek’s eyes shot to the chrono. She was right. “How long have I been sitting here?” he asked her.
“Since before any of us came in, I guess. We were watching for you, but didn’t think to look on another table.”
“Oh, well, I guess I’ll go get something to eat then come join you guys.”
“You haven’t eaten yet?”
“No, just this coffee.” He unconsciously took a sip, making a face as the now cold liquid entered his mouth. “I’ll be back in a second.” She nodded and went back to the table. Derek returned to the window and got his breakfast, French toast this morning. He ate it quickly, as they needed to get to their daily briefing in only a few minutes. As it was they barely made it, settling into their usual seats just as Captain Miller entered. In contrast to the laidback approach Jak took to squadron briefings, Miller was all business, almost marching into the room and speaking in a crisp clear voice.
“Good Morning all, I trust you slept well?” In Derek’s case of course, this was not true, but he decided to let it pass. “There are no special announcements today, so all you need do is follow the standard roster. All in all, a rather boring day.” The duty assignments were given, and they moved off. Alpha wing had a rostered hour in the simulator running Shivan gauntlets before a 2 hour guard shift – not Page’s idea of fun. He’d been spending an inordinate amount of time in the simulator the past few days, a place that he didn’t really like all that much. Sure, it was fine for letting off steam blasting inoffensive Vasudan freighters out of the sky, as the crew of that freighter wasn’t real. But it was the unreality of the situation which Page resented. There was no danger in the simulator, no threat, and he knew it. Without danger, there was no adrenaline, and without adrenaline, he didn’t perform at his best.
He and his wing reached the simulator room near the ship hangar while gloomy thoughts were still hanging over Page’s head. There were several rooms, with six cockpit-sized cubicles where the actual simulation took place. The controls were real, built as generic, simulator specific models, and even the chairs were identical to those found in fighter cockpits. He swung into his seat, and watched as the lid settled down over his head. The holo display then turned up, giving him brief mission details and a range of ships and weapons to choose from. They were to guard a small convoy against a heavy Shivan attack. He highlighted the Myrmidon, and was considering his weapons when a thought came to him. Dropping down a level, he highlighted the Apollo instead. There was no real reason; after all, the myrmidon was better armed, better armoured, faster and only slightly less manoeuvrable. Added to that was the fact that Apollos weren’t even available on regular GTVA missions anymore, and the choice seemed even more foolish. For a second, Page reconsidered, then he shook off the doubts, locked in his weapons and settled into battle mode. After all, it wasn’t even real.
The sudden flaring of the artificial sun and nebulae infused the pseudo cockpit with light, as the simulation began. The others, he’d noted, had all chosen Myrmidons, their usual fighter. It was Sylvia who asked the question first, her somewhat puzzled face appearing in the corner of his HUD.
“Hey Derek, what’s with the relic?”
“Nothing really. Just felt like a change.” In truth, even he didn’t know why he’d chosen the old fighter, but he wasn’t going to admit that.
Sylvia’s image showed up again, halfway through a shrug. “Your loss. Remember, lowest killer buys the beer.”
Page didn’t respond, examining his escort list instead. There was a Hippocrates medical frigate, two Triton freighters and a Zephyrus. “I hate convoy guards.” This time, Franks face appeared instead of Sylvia’s. “Hey, at least these Zephyrs can’t talk. I’d gotten sick of discussing my life as a dashing fighter pilot back in Vega.”
“Hmph.” Muttered Derek, scanning his radar. Four blue dots had appeared, directly behind the convoy. His auto hostile targeting immediately locked on to the nearest signature – a Shivan Dragon. “I knew this thing hated me. We’ve got a wave of dragons 180 degrees of the convoy, about three clicks out. Hit your burners and keep ‘em back there.” He pulled back on his stick and engaged his burners, almost simultaneous with the rest of his wing. The Apollo was slightly more responsive than the Myrmidon, but not so greatly that it made up for the loss of speed. Mark, Frank and Sylvia were already leading by a fair way, and they were getting away quickly. Shunting power to his engines, Page managed to narrow the gap, and was concentrating so hard on this that it took the sizzling of his shields as the first energy bolts glanced over them to get his mind back where it belonged. The ship that had fired on him, Leo 2, was already being engaged, by Mark, so Page scanned through his hostiles and picked up Leo 4, which was not under attack. Shunting power back from engines, he opened fire with his Subachs, the blue-pink bolts easily avoided by the agile Dragon. Narrowing the gap between them, Page heard the satisfying beep of a missile lock. He fired a group of hornets from the starboard bank, but they blew on a countermeasure, only one of the four finding its target, impacting on the fighter’s shield. ‘Fine you bastard. We’ll do it the other way.’ Switching to dual fire, Prometheus R and Subachs, Page struggled with the agile beast’s lead indicator, occasionally impacting the shields, occasionally even the hull, but mostly missing. A quick diving roll manoeuvre suddenly brought Page’s ship into the Shivans firing arc, and the barrage of heavy lasers blasted his forward shield almost to nothing. Despite the simulated danger he smiled. The shivan fighter had made its mistake. He engaged double fire on his hornet banks and pulled hard back on his stick, showing the dragon his belly as it roared past him. However, in that instant, he gained a target lock. At that range, there was no hope for the dragon. The missiles blew out his rear shields and a significant portion of his hull, and a quick barrage of prometheii and subachs finished the job. He pulled right and engaged his burners back towards the convoy, glancing at the score sheet as he did so. They’d each racked up one kill, but Sylvia was in front with one kill and one assist to her name. Page decided not to let it stay that way. He called in a support ship, even though his ordinance was not all that depleted. He did not believe in letting it run down.
The support ship warped in, and directly behind it was a wing of shivan fighters, apparently basilisks. ‘Great’ he thought, flicking his comm over to the open channel. “Try and keep that Hygeia alive. We’ll lose points if it goes down.”
“Roger that sir” It was Mark’s voice, naturally. He often took jobs like that, reasoning, Page thought, that hostiles would go after the bait and he’d be able to pick them off. Page never even considered the possibility that Mark might be afraid. If anything, his fault lay in the other direction. Once, only two weeks into his tour of duty on the Friday, Mark had single-handedly engaged and disabled a smugglers cruiser, it’s weapons inflicting so much damage on Marks Myrmidon that he hadn’t been able to fly it until two weeks later. His only comment however, had been made about the poor quality of the gunners available to smuggler captains.
The basilisks had come quite close by now, well into weapons range, but they were concentrating in Sylvia, who’d arrived first, and Frank, who was watching her back for her. It was the kind of setting Page would normally hate, but in a simulator, his natural instinct to protect those under his command was weakened, and his competitive edge was given the spotlight. He switched banks, and fired two of the piranha missiles he favoured in simulators. In double fire mode they could get you up to four kills in one shot, and they were almost always effective in this sort of situation. When the bombs had reached the allotted distance, Page lowered his thumb on the trigger…’Bye boys.’ He said smiling. His thumb went down…and the missiles stopped.
The missiles had stopped less than a hundred meters from the shivan fighters, but the fighters had stopped too. “What’s going on!?” he shouted down his comm..
“Geez, it’s not my fault!” came Franks somewhat hurt voice “Go yell at someone else for a …”
Suddenly a new voice drowned out Franks “This is Admiral Jamison” came the old mans clear, deep voice. “Sorry to interrupt your training pilots, but I need to borrow Lieutenant Page for a moment. If you would, Lieutenant, I’m in my ready room.”
Page nodded unconsciously, even though the admiral couldn’t see him. He reached down for the glowing eject button, which would end the simulation. “You guys keep going, and let me know how you go. Hopefully, I’ll be back for the patrol.” The pod went black just as motion returned to the simulation, and the pod hissed open. Page shut his eyes against the brightness of the simulation room, giving them a few seconds to adjust before swinging out of the pod onto the floor. His steps were more hurried than usual as he made his way towards the transport pod junction. Why would the Admiral want to see him? Reaching the junction there was only a short delay before he could find an empty one. Pressing the button for the admiral’s ready room, he leaned back against the wall, reminding himself that he hadn’t done anything wrong, and that he was not, despite the similar feel, being sent to the principal’s office.
The doors hissed open one deck up from the bridge and Page walked out into the reception area. The admiral’s secretary, a young, female lieutenant JG looked up as he approached. “Lieutenant Page?” she asked
“That’s me.”
“You can go right in sir. The admiral is expecting you”
Page nodded in response and walked through the doors at the end of the hall. In the next room were three figures seated around a table, the admiral, his grey hair contrasting with his white senior officers uniform, a younger man in the black uniform of a GTVI senior officer whose badges identified him as a commodore and Rob, Page’s fighter tech. Page came to attention and saluted “Lieutenant Derek Page, reporting as ordered, sir”
“At ease lieutenant, come in, come in. This is Commodore Rainer from the SOC. He has a few questions he’d like to ask you.”
Page saluted the other officer. “I’m all yours sir.”
The black suited officer waved his salute away. “I’m not going to stand on ceremony pilot. Have a seat.”
Page sat at the table, fully conscious of the admiral on his left. The commodore handed him a datacard, which was displaying a ship registration. “I believe you’ve recently purchased a B-type Apollo space superiority fighter, registration A112-50-PQ136 with some special modifications. Can you confirm this?”
“Well, the registration sounds about right…I haven’t exactly had time to memorize it yet though. I don’t recall any mention of special modifications when I bought it though sir.”
“So you weren’t aware of the advanced sensor package? Or the fully loaded secret secondary bay?”
“No sir…” said Page, puzzled, “I’m sorry if I’ve violated procedure sir, but I honestly wasn’t aware of these modifications.” He shot a questioning look at Rob.
“No, not at all lieutenant. In fact, you were quite thorough, going through all the proper application channels to carry it on board.”
“Then, why am I here sir?”
“Well lieutenant, we’d like to buy it from you”
“Buy it, sir?” asked Page. Even more puzzled. What had Rob told them?
“Indeed. You see, we intend to send a SOC operative to infiltrate the pirate group using the unusual Atens, however the Black Friday, the only destroyer in system at the moment, is a fairly new ship, and doesn’t have anything older than a Myrmidon on board. Your vessel, with its age and modifications, suits the role of mercenary fighter perfectly. Hence, we’re prepared to pay you 20% above the 600 credits you paid for the vessel.”
“While I’m quite interested in your offer, I must be honest with you sir. The fighter can’t even hover. It was a wreck when I bought it.”
“We’ve already begun repair work on it, and with several teams working in shifts around the clock, your mechanic here assures me it can be finished in 32 hours. It would however, take over 72 hours for a suitable fighter to arrive, and the sooner we infiltrate this group, the sooner we can find out what we’re up against here. My superiors in the SOC and the GTVA council consider that worth the credits.”
Page considered it. If he told them no, who knows what would happen, but if he told them less, he would lose his fighter. Granted, he’d be up twenty percent, but… The realization that the conversation was moot was more sudden than it really should have been. “Uh, has Commander Pieterson been in to see you yet sir?”
“Commander Pieterson? No, not recently, though I believe he has an appointment.” He checked the terminal on his desk. “Yes, in about an hour. I assume this is relevant, Lieutenant?”
“Yes sir, it is. He’s going to inform you of something the scanning team apparently didn’t click to.”
The black clothed Rainer broke in at that point. “I doubt that, lieutenant. The scans were gone over several times, and the report released. The GTVI makes few mistakes.”
“He was more interested in what wasn’t in the scan sir.”
Rainer leaned back in his chair at that remark, but if he was surprised he gave no other indication of it. “I assume you mean the missing computer core fragments?” His voice was cool and even, as if discussing the weather, but his eyes were guarded.
“Yes actually, I was.” An edge was creeping unbidden into Page’s voice. “If you knew, why wasn’t it in the report?”
Rainer ignored the question, instead speaking to Admiral Jamison. “I must congratulate you. You have some observant officers aboard your vessel.”
The old man’s face had become curious. “It seems I’m the only one here in the dark about the significance of all this. Would someone care to enlighten me?”
“It’s rather simple sir. The Commodore, or more properly the GTVI have been withholding information. That Aten was no ordinary pirate ship. It seems the Hammer of Light have returned.”
“It means nothing of the sort.” The icy calm was beginning to slip from Rainer’s voice. “All it means is that the Hammer once modified this vessel…or that someone deliberately altered it to look like a Hammer job.”
Page was becoming angry. “And yet this isn’t significant enough to go into the intel report? Even for the vessel sent in to handle this information? Even for the commander of that vessel?”
“Had it been up to me, you and your vessel wouldn’t even be here. If the security council hadn’t been so determined to protect against a non-existent threat, you’d still be guarding convoys in Vega!”
“Non existent?” Page got to his feet. “The Hammer of Light return, with Shivan allies, and the threat’s non existent? Non-existent to you desk jockeys maybe, but we’re risking our lives out here! We deserve all the facts!”
“I assure you, the Hammer of Light are not back!”
“Well that’s just great! I’m sure you and your little…”
“Sit down Lieutenant!” It was Admiral Jamisons voice now, stern and commanding as he rose from his seat to glare at the two arguing men. “You’re out of line!”
“Sir with all due respect…”
“Sit! That’s an order!”
Page sat back down. “Good.” Said Jamison. “Now, commodore, I think the lieutenant is right. We need all the facts here and now. And don’t try and hide behind rank and clearance levels. According to GTVA regulations I have Omega clearance in any issues that may place a clear and present danger to my ship and crew, and I’m not yet convinced that this doesn’t. I’m also wiling to extend that clearance to everyone in this room, as is my right. Now, I want an explanation, Commodore.
The black clad officer stared at Jamison for a second, then spoke. Admiral, I must advise against this, if this gets out before we’re ready for it…”
“Your readiness does not concern me, and I assure you, it will not get out. Now tell me, or I’ll have you thrown in the brig.” The statement was not said threateningly, but it had the desired effect.
“Remember Admiral, you will be entirely responsible for this.”
Jamison nodded, and Rainer began to speak.
“About 3 months ago, we started hearing some rumours that two of the big pirate groups in this sector, the Silverbacks and Smythe’s boys were having a rather violent turf war, but about six weeks in, the Silverbacks just disappeared. It seems Smythe called in some heavy reinforcements, at least two individual Typhon Destroyers, and over a dozen Atens, and that’s just what we’ve encountered so far. What we didn’t know was where he’d gotten all this heavy artillery. That was until we managed to take down that Aten here in Lamaris and we found out it was ex Hammer. Turns out Smythe somehow managed to find the Hammer’s overflow fleet.”
Silent up until then, Rob interrupted “Overflow fleet?”
“It’s the ships the Hammers made during the last days of their rebellion, when they had a crapload of money, but no new recruits. They were going to dump the ships somewhere then get them back as they got enough men to fill them. But they never got enough to fill ‘em, so they just sat there, even after the Hammer had been destroyed in Templar. Since then, nobody’s been able to find ‘em. Well, almost nobody it seems…”
This time it was Admiral Jamison who interrupted. “How can you be sure it’s this overflow? It could be anything really.” “The pieces fit together too well for it to be anything else I’m afraid. Their sudden appearance, the shivan debris, the HoL computer core, the fact that they’re all vintage Vasudan, no Hats or Mentus among ‘em…There’s no other explanation.” The information was screaming inside Page’s head, as was the others calm response. “Hang on a sec…you’re basically saying that there’s a pirate out there who just got his hands on a huge fleet, managed to man enough of them to wipe out his bigger competitor and may even have more?”
Rainer nodded “That’s about it I suppose”
“And does that worry you as much as it does me?”
“Probably more, Lieutenant. So now you see why we need your fighter. I have the transfer papers here, all I need is a signature.”
“Actually, sir, I have a better idea. I’d like to offer my services as an infiltrator along with my fighter.”
Rainer tried to stifle a smile “I thank you for your offer and respect your enthusiasm and courage, but we have SOC pilots specially trained for this kind of operation. I’m sure they’ll be able to handle it.” He offered the papers to Page. “I’m sure you’ll find everything in order.”
“Well sir, I’m sorry but I won’t be needing to read that. I’m not selling my fighter. I’ll need it on leave.”
“Leave? You mean…I’m sorry, but I can’t allow you to attempt anything alone. We have SOC pilots who are more capable at this kind of op. All I need from you is your fighter.”
“Wait, Commodore. Lieutenant Page, would I be correct in assuming that your principal purpose in asking for leave will be to infiltrate the criminal organization of Jackson Smythe and attempt to gather information, or possibly sabotage his organization?”
Page stiffened, but he couldn’t bring himself to lie to his superior.
I know it just cuts off. It's a direct copy and paste from a file I haven't worked on in over a month.
