MissionSRX: Deep Unknown Page 6
You may think that now, but believe me; it is the truth. And what of your crew?
Grant ignored the comment. “They will follow me wherever I go. Their conduct has been nothing short of exemplary, and I do not doubt their abilities.” He paused. “If we are to do this, please understand that I must also see to the defense of Earth.”
Of course. That would be the righteous and proper thing to do. What would you want?
“I want whatever we would need to get your enemy to back off. If they have been fighting you for millennia, my people won’t last long.”
It will be done. We can work out the tactics later, but such a mission would be a necessity if we were to outfit the fleet.
The commander stopped. “What fleet?”
Omega continued. We have built many ships in preparation for your arrival. Your current crew, while sufficient for the moment, will not be enough to win the war. Additional forces will need to be collected out of necessity.
Grant nodded. “We’ll see about that. I’m sure we’ll need to share quite a bit before we can embark on some campaign together. Can we get our equipment from our ship?” he asked with outstretched hands, looking down at his hospital attire.
Yes. Your armor is still aboard.
“Thank you… I should see to my team.”
The alien waved him on. Of course. Thank you for making the right decision.
Although Grant was disinclined to agree with Omega, he left with the feeling that they at least had somewhat good intentions for them. He crossed the platform once more and made his way back to where the rest of his men were waiting. He stopped at the door and stared down at the captive audience, who by their eyes were waiting for his decision.
“We’ll do it,” he confirmed. “They’ve got more ships for us to use and they’ll give us the clearance to support the defense of Earth. That must be our primary objective.”
“Quid pro quo?” Fox inquired.
“Quid pro quo,” Grant nodded. “We’ll need to provide them the support they need as well. They seem to think we share an enemy so maybe our objectives are one and the same.”
“And you’re still their messiah?”
Grant glared at his fellow commander. “Don’t say that. I don’t want it, but I’ll do their job until they figure out they’re wrong and find who they’re really looking for.” He stepped back into the adjacent room. “Come on. We’re going back to the Flagstaff to get our gear.”
***
Together they rode the same gliding platform across the wide expanse to their docked battleship. Although he had already spent an extended amount of time aboard, Fox was nearly overwhelmed as it continued to grow in his field of view. For all the abuse it had taken under his command, the skin looked surprisingly clean and relatively free of significant burns.
“How are you controlling this?” the engineer asked their guide.
I called for the range manager to set the path. It automatically tracks along a stabilized energy field. Similar systems move all of the lifts on the station. It will drop us on the deck nearest your command center.
“Is that how our ship is mounted here?”
Partially, yes. It is also under the influence of a reduced gravitational field. As far as the station is concerned, it takes very little to keep your vessel in place.
As the landing bay came into view, Grant began to inspect the area from a distance. He could instantly tell that the aliens had been there, but not by obvious signs. If any installation had been overrun by aliens or enemies, as far as he was familiar it would have been picked clean, half-demolished and inoperable.
If their hosts were still onboard, they didn’t make their presence known. Items had been moved about; the smaller ships were removed and some alien equipment pieces were staged against the walls. More than that, everything looked oddly… clean? He couldn’t think of any other way to describe it. It was as if every surface had been scrubbed and freshly polished after their harrowing, extended journey. Not only that, the equipment that he did see was lined up and cataloged as if for inspection.
The floor again instantly sent a stabbing sensation of cold surging through Grant’s feet as he stepped off the resting platform. He fully expected the jolt so he half watched the others as they reacted to the change.
From the bay they went their separate ways. Grant climbed the stairs towards the bridge and his bunk room, down the hall from the commander’s quarters. The door was closed but unlocked, and the light inside automatically illuminated when he entered.
Omega was right; everything was at it had been. His subdued red armor was neatly stacked and placed on his rack. A few books from the ship’s collection were stacked on the small desk to the side along with a few other pieces of equipment while his weapons were nowhere to be seen.
At his small, recycled-water sink Grant caught his reflection in the unbreakable mirror. He expected to need more cleaning up, but whatever processing the aliens performed did wonders. His hair was visibly longer, but his face was still clean-shaven. It was a mystery how much time had transpired since they left Earth.
The armor fit as he had remembered. Switching between his silk, alien pajamas and the uniform’s base layer, Grant checked himself over more closely. There were no new incisions that he could see but more importantly his older scars still remained. In some ways he felt that they were the only real proof of his actions.
Once everything was in place and the accessories present on the desk attached, he took a final survey of the room. He stopped on his way in front of the ship commander’s door, hesitated and knocked twice on the metal surface.
Fox swung the door aside a second later. “You need something?”
“Just to talk,” he said. “We need to figure out our next move.”
“I agree.” Fox checked the hall as Grant entered and closed the door behind them. “What’s your plan? Evidently it’s your decision.”
“We need to grill these guys for all the information we can get. I’d call our enemy a bunch of bullet sponges after their embarrassing performance on Earth, but I’d wager they’re capable of more if Omega’s people are scared.”
“Absolutely. I’d say we should get the details on our guys’ ships and see how they’ll stack up. They’re bound to have a ton on tactics development, way more than we would.”
Grant nodded. “With the group of us, we should be able to make some judgments as to the state of their affairs. You’ve got some sharp people here.”
“I’m not sure we could go that far right away. We’re not talking about an extra semester of calculus here; we’re looking at an entirely different path of evolution. I’m hesitant that we could make heads or tails out of it.”
“It won’t be that different. We got access to some of their technology already and regardless of the odds, we did end up in the same room together talking to them. Plus, I bet they started counting on their fingers and sticking each other with pointed things just like us. After that, it’s just the details.”
***
“This is incredible…” Othello mumbled, sitting on what was his bunk in the central bay.
“I know, right? It’s unbelievable,” Scott replied approaching with his armor halfway assembled. The aliens had graciously lined up all the suits in the hallway just outside where they were sure to find them.
“No, not even what’s going on out there,” he waved to the landing bay but kept staring at his feet. “I didn’t think I’d ever be fixed in this lifetime.”
“You were fixed up before, weren’t you? I never saw you get slowed down.”
“You can’t understand this without experiencing it yourself. It was never the same. The implants they gave me allowed some dull feelings and sensations to pass, but the best ones on Earth take months to graft and are only moderately better,” he explained. “Imagine smashing your hands with a hammer then wearing snow mittens for the next five years and without warning have them taken off.”
Scott nodde
d slightly before Othello continued.
“But it’s more than that. There’s no scaring. No mismatch in length. They look exactly the same as I remembered.”
“They must have directly accessed your genome. If they set a command to regenerate, your legs would have regrown exactly as they were. If that’s the case, they are your legs.”
“Unbelievable,” Othello said, smiling slightly. “What’s your take on the commanders’ plans?”
“I’m fully impressed as it is, but I can’t imagine what’s still waiting for us. I hope Grant and Fox know more than they’re letting on.” There was a sense of wonder behind the man’s voice, as if he had discovered a new world for the exploring. “Omega made it sound like there’d be danger, but I’m here for anything,” he announced as he added the rest of the armor. “Even if there’s a home left, how could I ever rationalize giving up on all this?”
“It’s good to see you’re enthusiastic.”
“How about you?”
“I’m reserving judgment on it,” Othello said. “Right now there are just too many variables. If we’re shoved in the middle of an alien war we’ve got no business in, this might be terrible and very brief. Then again, if we sit back until they come for us, humanity might not have much of a future to look forward to anyway.” He looked back at Scott. “Let’s see what Omega’s got in mind for us and go from there.”
Scott paused briefly. The words picked at a memory of something he couldn’t put his finger on. It was disconcerting, but he didn’t let it get in the way. Besides, they were minutes away from another adventure.
***
“No peace for warriors, eh?” Kael asked, smirking at Grant and Fox as they approached from the edge of the landing bay. Sergeant Mason along with the major had arrived back at the alien’s platform only a minute prior.
“Never,” Fox replied, feeling more at home in his cleaned suit of light armor. Having recovered his ship and crew lifted a massive weight from his chest. Getting Commander Grant to come around to reason was also cause for celebration.
Scott and Othello watched from the side while the Emissary and Omega were walking the perimeter of the expansive room. They traded anxious glances between each other with their few idle seconds.
“I know what must be going through your minds right now,” Grant stated to the team. “I don’t know any more than you, but hopefully we can change that. If we’re the best humanity has to offer, maybe we’re more capable than we think. Regardless, I know you’re all extremely capable and you’ll be able to take whatever we’re dealt.”
Slight nods came from multiple members before Kael spoke up, looking around the audience. “We’re in the service of Earth. Never forget it. Let’s figure out what our benefactors have arranged for us and we’ll tear those bastards apart!”
As Kael finished, their hosts stepped back onto the platform beside them.
So are you ready? Omega asked, with a hint of the rhetorical in his voice.
“Absolutely. Where are we off to next?” Grant asked for the team.
We’ll be traveling to the fleet’s production center so you can inspect our progress. We’ll get you up to speed on our capabilities on the way. The alien spoke as the platform lifted off again and drifted back across the service bay, leaving the Flagstaff like a fleeting memory.
“How is your fleet assembled?” Fox asked in the lull.
After our great transgression, our vessels of conquest were decommissioned and removed from service. Only when we saw the signs of your arrival did we begin to rebuild. You will find the layout familiar.
The backbone of the force is the Patriot battleship, produced in great numbers for your use. They are equipped with multiple offensive and self-protection weapons and can easily patrol a hundred systems in a single deployment. They are also fitted with high-energy cannons that are unstoppable via anything less than a planet.
Each group is commanded from a midsize Liberty carrier which can carry many of the battleships in its internal and external bays. It is designed to drop battle groups outside of enemy range and then recover them after the engagement. The Liberty carriers are then docked within our flagship, the Crusader.
“Is that going to be enough?” Fox asked.
“I’d like to know how closely their armaments follow ours,” Kael added. “Depending on how we can equip our forces, we might either be short on gear or forced to use theirs. I don’t want to try to manage training for alien weapons on top of the rest of this.”
“He’s right,” Grant said while the team transferred from the small platform to their midsize shuttle. With a building rumble, the ship rocketed them back into the night sky. “Maybe if we’re out of options we could build our own from their supplies as a stopgap. The Flagstaff should have the fab shop to at least build ZiG rifles.”
“Good thinking,” Fox confirmed. “We’ve got all the files to burn them on the servers.”
Don’t get too far ahead of yourselves. We’ve developed many similar technologies to yours and can prototype nearly anything else you’d desire.
The words stuck with Grant and he turned them over in his mind. What sort of possibilities would they have tomorrow? Would humanity’s efforts still have meaning, or would they quickly become a moot point? He was afraid he already knew the answer. The exclamation from his engineer snapped him back.
“Holy shit! Is that it?” Scott bolted from his seat and towards the starboard window. Sliding out of the darkness floated a massive starship, expanding deep into space in every direction.
Grant looked, and his jaw subsequently dropped. The ship looked to be an order of magnitude bigger than the Flagstaff and probably double the mass of their capital cruiser. The long, boxlike body had extrusions on each side on which were mounted rows of massive cannons. Capped wings protruded from the underside of the body, turned to each side and held four oddly shaped engines in place, but the most striking feature was the leading edge of the fuselage. Protruding from the front was what looked like a carved gun barrel, fitted with wide shining metallic rings and twisting pipes.
“Is that the Crusader? That thing’s huge!” Scott exclaimed again.
He was right, Grant decided, the ship stationed before them looked to be able to conquer a system by itself. He doubted there would have been a ship in the Aquillian fleet that could have withstood more than two shots from the deck guns. Their previous war could have been over in a matter of weeks…
My friend, that is not the Crusader. This is a Patriot, one of our line battleships.
The statement rocked Grant’s psyche.
If this was all we had to offer, we’d be in no position to stand up for ourselves. We’d have been exterminated long ago.
“I don’t understand,” Fox said, mesmerized. “With one of those ships we could have secured Earth forever.”
You need to expand your minds. There is more to the universe than what you have witnessed. We have had the resources of entire galaxies at our disposal for hundreds of generations. Of course we have seen more than you have.
“If these are the smaller ships, how many of them do you have?” Fox asked.
Omega looked on the growing vessel with pride. The yards are still in production, but we have over… currently in service.
The moment of static was enough to throw off the rest of the audience. The officers shared nervous glances. “I don’t think we can convey numbers to each other,” Fox stated. “I’ve been wondering--”
Before he could finish, Scott snapped his head back from the window with both eyes wide. “No.” He shook his head, his eyes growing wide. “He said they’ve built fifty thousand.”
“Fifty thousand of those?” Grand demanded, his expression mirroring his companions.
Scott nodded as Omega confirmed. That’s correct. We have that many in non-militarized service, but there are still more in production.
“That’s crazy. You must have consumed entire planets to build a fleet like that.”
The team watched as the battleship filled the windows from one side to the other. They quickly became enveloped on all sides while their miniscule shuttle sought a tiny pad built into the lower right side and came in for a landing. With a hiss and a brief flutter as the pressure equalized, the rear wall disappeared to reveal a conformal loading ramp.
Follow me, Omega ordered as he stood. I’ll take you to the main briefing room. You’ll be able to pull all the information you’ll need from there.
“That’s seriously insane,” Fox said again. “We barely have a crew of two thousand. How are we supposed to staff fifty thousand ships?”
“Maybe that’s not how they work,” Othello guessed. “Maybe they just need a human in each kill chain. If we each took twenty five, we have enough to authorize each strike.”
Interesting premise, but it is incorrect, Omega added without looking back. We’ll require a force of around two hundred fifty at an absolute minimum to command each ship. Depending how training progresses, we’ll likely be able to field five, maybe six battleships with no central support.
“So the rest will come from Earth?” Grant surmised. “That’s why they’re our first objective.”
Fox tried not to focus on the impossibility of the task and instead studied the corridors around them. The floor was gray in color, shined like polished metal, with a moderate texture applied. The walls were wide enough for moderate-sized equipment to pass unabated. Unlike the other stations, the battleship’s interior was appointed with shades of gray on the various surfaces as well as a series of blue lateral pinstripes at shoulder-level.
The walls weren’t free-flowing, but rather fitted with service panels every meter to either side while light was provided from a glowing ceiling. With the design so far removed from the norm, Fox considered the options: it could have been built for serviceability in combat or piecemealed from multiple suppliers. Or, he had to also consider, the layout was designed by their new overlords to be more traditional and thus more approachable to the humans.