OT: Decisions, Decisions....

[AgentZero]

So I plugged in an old hard drive today as part of random experimentation, and came across a few old stories I'd started but never finished. I have some interesting ideas for all of them, but time only for one, if I'm lucky. So I present them all to you to get a feeling for which one holds the most promise...

[AgentZero]

The God That Failed






The God That Failed
by
Tim McElwain

Prologue


They say gods can not be killed
They say gods can never die.
They say gods are eternal.
They are wrong.

Since the first glimmer of the divine sparked inside the mind of some unknown ancestor, gods have been living and dying like any mortal. Granted, their life spans far exceed that of any mortal I've ever met, but they die just the same.

At first, our gods were everywhere; in the earth and the sky, in stones and streams, in plants and animals, in ourselves. Peace and harmony were held aloft as the truest of ideals, though reality is very different. For though it was agreed that god was in everything, no one could agree on how much of him was in a given stone, stream, plant or animal, or what he was doing there. And this gave us reason to kill. After all, violence and death were just part of existence. In time, these gods died off and were replaced by gods that lived high atop mountains or in the clouds. Peace and harmony were still held aloft, but not quite as high, as we had discovered so many other ideals. And as we spread we created pantheon upon pantheon of new gods until there were thousands of divine beings competing for our attentions. These gods warred amongst themselves for millennia before dying off to be replaced by one God. The True God. Peace and harmony were yet again held aloft, while violence and death were cast down from their pedestals and abhorred as unnatural. Though all the while we worked feverishly to discover new ways of inflicting violence and death on a greater and greater scale. But only to protect ourselves, we said. After all, we are all servants of the One True God. But even then the divine found no peace, for there were many One True Gods. And slowly these competing One True Gods died off and were replaced by gods of our own creation.

Then they came. Finally, we thought, we have truly found the Divine. But we were wrong. And now we have no gods.
Only demons.

Chapter I


It was a beautiful, bright summer’s day. The sun radiated gentle heat across the land, birds soared across the bright blue sky, and the plants turned their flowery faces upwards to bask in the sun’s warm glow.

Yes, Prium Alvec Hoon agreed to himself, it was a truly splendid day. And even if it had been a cold and miserable day, it is doubtful this would have dampened Hoon’s spirits any. He had far too much to be joyful about this day. His wives were ripe with new offspring, his eldest son had been accepted into the Academy, and despite having only been promoted some three months earlier, Hoon himself was soon to be accepting an even more prestigious, and much better paid, positions. He would have an office at the top of the highest building in Port 7. He would have offices on all the major colonies, and his own ship to get him there. Best yet, his salary was set to increase tenfold, which would easily let him afford another wife. Or perhaps two. And all this because of the simple press of a button.

He shook his head ruefully at the memory. Over a thousand Worker Units had malfunctioned and turned against their Operators in an orgy of violence and death. The attack shocked the whole Management Department into inaction. After all, it had been thought the last bugs had been fixed several generations ago. And while the rest of the department stood in shock, unbelieving, he alone had the presence of mind to act. He alone vaulted heroically onto the Command platform and he alone gave the order to terminate the malfunctioning units. It had only taken a few hours before the last one was tracked down and deactivated, yet the Board treated him as though he were a mighty general who had just won a glorious victory against insurmountable odds.

Still, if they wished to lump prestige and glory upon him, he was happy to-

Prium Alvec Hoon’s musings were interrupted as a semi-solid slug slid easily through his office window, through his front cranial plate, and splattered his happy brains against his office’s back wall. All that remained of his half-finished thoughts was a fine red mist wafting over his lifeless body.

Hearing the sound of shattering glass, the Prium’s secretary hurried into the room, fearing her clumsy superior had broken another vase. Entering the office, she saw nothing out of the ordinary, aside from the lack of a Prium. A large ornamental plant obscured his body from her dim eyesight. As she shuffled towards his desk she noticed something odd about one of the windows. Moving closer, she leaned in until her nose was almost touching the glass. Odd, she thought, that the Prium would have put a hole in the window, given how he was always complaining about the stench of the city. Turning away from the window, her eyes finally fell upon what had once been Prium Alvec Hoon, and even her poor eyesight could not conceal the grisly scene before her. After diving behind the former Prium’s desk to ensure she didn’t share his grim fate, she did what any normal person would do, and screamed.

By some strange twist of physics, her scream struck a strange resonance pattern that travelled the whole way down all three hundred and seventy-nine stories of the building. Upon reaching the concrete, the leading edge of the scream’s sound wave rebounded and crashed into the rest of the wave, causing the window to explode violently, showering glass over a poor young girl named Keira Asen.

“Bloody [censored]!” she exclaimed, scrambling backwards and shaking glass from her bright blue hair. “Bloody [censored] [censored]!”
After assuring herself that no serious harm had been done to her by the flying glass, Keira stared studiously at the

[AgentZero]

Back to the Beginning

Bing!

Lieutenant James Kennedy Kagan, Craft Commander in His Majesty's Space Exploration Corps, shifted sleepily and tried to find a more comfortable position in his chair.

Bing!

"Mrrfeckoff," he mumbled as he tried to get back to the altogether more pleasant dream he'd been having before he was tugged back to reality by that insistent-

Bing!

"Bing?" he muttered. His eyes opened reluctantly. "Bing?" he said again, as if uncertain he'd heard himself right the first time.

Bing! His console confirmed helpfully.

James eyed the console sceptically. "There's not supposed to be any bings out here," he informed it.

Bing! It replied just the same.

He tapped a few commands into the console and it brought up a spherical three dimensional holographic display with a rather impressive snap-whizzzz noise. In the centre was an icon representing his craft. It wasn't a ship, because it was too small, so they called it a craft. Which was, of course something the Navy boys were always helpful enough to remind him every time he had the good misfortune of running into one. But it was his craft and at least he didn't have to go about saluting every tight assed-

Bing!

"Riiight," he said softly, pulling his thoughts back to the present. There was his craft, in the middle of the display. About five centimetres out from his craft's icon (or about five hundred thousand kilometres in real terms), was a green sphere which represented his craft's sensors' maximum optimum scanning range. Also known as the furthest distance he could get a real good look at something for the less pedantic amongst us. Five centimetres out from the green sphere was a blue sphere which represented the sensors mid-range, which didn't mean too much except that things inside that sphere looked slightly less fuzzy than things outside it. And another five centimetres out from that was an orange sphere (interestingly, there is not a living soul in the Empire who knows who came up with these colours, or why. It's just the way things are), which represented maximum sensor range. Things outside of this sphere couldn't be seen and wouldn't show up on the map unless you already knew they were there. Which would, of course, entirely defeat the purpose of the fancy holographic display.

And anything entering that orange sphere which wasn't already known, and therefore supposed to be there would immediately cause the craft's console to

Bing!

Since it was an exploration craft, and therefore meant to investigate such things. James leaned forward and squinted at the display. Anything of significance would show up as a bigger dot on the screen, though of course the bing wouldn't be any louder, the console only having one volume setting.

Bing!

"I know, I know," James growled. "Yer a bleedin' bing and damn proud of it, aren't ya? Well yer a feckin' small lil' bing too I'll tell ya that. Not even worth my while. Wouldn't even bother with ya if it wasn't what they were feckin' payin' me for, ya bollocks." And with that, he turned his craft towards the bing and throttled up to full power. The surge of acceleration had the unfortunate effect of intensifying the after effects of a significant quantity of Tennessian whisky and he popped a couple Stim-Pills™ into his mouth to calm his roiling stomach.

Bing!

"I'm [censored] comin' already!" he snarled at the console before giving the flashing red light a good smack to stop the bings. At full speed it would still take a good few hours to reach the bing so he settled back and stared at it slowly getting closer through hooded eyes. Probably would turn out to be nothing. Piece of space debris most likely, maybe a chunk of rubbish ejected by some Navy boys in there big fancy ship. Might be interesting though. Maybe a comet no one had ever seen before. They'd have to name it after him then. Kagan's Comet they'd call it.

'Oi, Paddy, have ya heard of dis Kagan's Comet?'
'No, Mick. The [censored] is it?'
'Big ****in' comet 'bout to smash into us it is.'
'Ah, fer [censored]'s sake! Now who's gone and done that?'
'Well, I could be wrong but I'm figurin' it'd be this Kagan fellah.'
'Well who the [censored] is he?!'
'Some ****in' bollocks up in a spaceship, I imagine.'
'Craft, Mick. It's called a craft coz it's too bleedin small for them to call it a ship.'
'Fair enough, Paddy. Ya comin for a pint?'
'Well the missus made me swear off of 'em but I suppose there'd be no harm in it now, now would there?'
'There wouldn't for sure, Paddy.'

James Kagan shook himself awake and looked at his console. The bing was well inside the green sphere now and his console had provided a handy readout of what the sensors had managed to uncover.
Metallic. Hollow. Low power readings. No emissions signature. Best guess (called Highest Probability by the computer, since computers hate to admit they guess): an escape pod, likely of Terran manufacture.
"An escape pod?" said James. "Now that would be most interesting, now wouldn't it. Aye, it would. Most interesting indeed."

Psychiatric Assessment Scheduled flickered across his console's display screen.

"Bollocks," he replied accusingly. He then instructed his craft to take position above the pod and match it's course and speed. That done, he fired the grappling hooks and pulled the pod into his craft's docking bay, then trotted down to the quarantine area to watch the proceedings.

First, one of the general purpose robots sauntered up to the pod and opened it’s main hatch just far enough to perfectly obscure James’ view of the inside. Then, one of the little Medi-bots trotted up to the pod and hopped inside. Moments later there came a high-pitched yowl and the unmistakeable sound of flesh and bone repeatedly smacking metal. Moments after that the Medi-bot scurried back out of the pod and approached James to report.

‘One subject. Human. Female. No harmful organisms detected on subject. No harmful organisms detected in subject. No organisms harmful to subject detected. Subject aggregate health rating: Below Average. Recommend immediate attention.’

“OK,” said James and opened the quarantine room door. He approached the pod carefully. The Medi-bot had said there were no harmful organisms on or in this human female, but hadn’t mentioned whether or not the human female might be a harmful organism herself. He sidled up against the pod’s hatch door, peeked around the corner and was immediately hit by a blast of cool air. Curious, he poked his head a bit further around the corner to the point where he could see where a coolant pipe had become exposed, which would be keeping the inside of the pipe downright chilly. Stepping fully around the door, he got his first look at the pod’s occupant, a girl huddled up on the pod’s barren bed.

The first thing he noticed was her jet black hair and large green eyes. Which was rather odd since one would have thought that the first thing he would notice would be her curvaceous petit figure, or perhaps the fact that she was completely and utterly naked. But no, he noticed the hair and the eyes. Odd how the brain works sometimes. Of course, the curves and nakedness were swiftly noticed, and James suddenly found a particular section of the ceiling unusually fascinating.

“Gorgeous naked girl in need of rescue,” he said to himself. “This day is looking up.” He then returned his gaze to her, being very careful to keep his eyes on hers. “Are ya alright there?” he asked.

“Skree mit ga jawa!” she accused him.
“Come again?” he replied. “Speako the Standard, yeah?”
“Skree mit ga jawa! Ber gitvik mesh porrah!”
“OK,” he drawled. “Me no be understanding you, comprendez?”
“Kerrick mick ganna! Mick ganna morjana!”
“Ah, yeah, Mick’s grand,” James replied reassuringly. “Now why don’t ya come on outta there and we’ll fix you up with some clothes and let the doc-bot have a good look at ya, hmmm?”
“Per jo maganashae! Fer skree mit ga jawa!”
“Of course. Now come on out,” he beckoned her towards him with one hand. “Come on.”
“Nasha mit gona shaemagana,” she threatened.
“I’m sure it is,” he agreed. “Now come on out, you’ll catch your death of cold in there. Come on, and we’ll get ya some nice warm food.” He made an eating gesture with one hand while rubbing his stomach with the other. This seemed to catch her attention and she inched forwards on the bed.
“Pega?” she asked, mimicking his eating gesture. “Pega?”
“Sure,” he replied. “All the pega you want.”

She got up off the bed and stretched, causing James’ knees to feel suddenly very, very weak. Stepping out of the pod she stopped suddenly and held up her index finger.
“Per mek donna shogna, berrek fon ja mit gona fendald,” she warned. “Konda ven forga shen vekmora.”
“Don’t worry,” he said, leading her over to the lockers. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman.”

He handed her the smallest jumpsuit he could find and helped her into it. It a loose fit on her small frame, but the stretchy shoes fit snugly and she smiled gratefully at him as he did up the jumpsuit’s front fastener.

“Now then,” he said. “In all the excitement I appear to have forgotten my manners.” He laid one hand on his chest and said, “James,” then pointed to her.
“Sara,” she replied chipperly.
“Sara,” he repeated, whereupon she slapped him hard across the chest.
“Getz!” she exclaimed. “Met Sara gona fez fana ga shenda mala! Forga shappa naz vena borokunasha vak dana vak fana vak shenda morka mick konda dona ja mit forga bonnashava korgu monshenda vak gorra mak skree jawa vey!”
“Um, sorry?” James tried.
“Sah-RAH,” she enunciated for him, then tapped her chest for emphasis. “Sah-rah.”
“Sah-rah,” he repeated cautiously, his chest still stinging.
“Cha! Jam-ez,” she replied happily, then patted his shoulder before making the eating gesture again.
“Ah, right,” he remembered with a nod. “Pega.”
“Pega,” she agreed with a firm nod.

He brought her to the kitchen and the two of them squeezed in at a table meant to be a tight fit for one. James pointed to bring her attention to the food dispenser and gave a silent demonstration of how it worked. After pressing the large green button (appetizingly labelled 'Dispense'), he held up a finger to indicate she should wait, and held it up until the small red light beside the button flashed green. Then, slid open the dispensers door and pulled out a freshly heated meal pack. He pulled open the foil covering and Sara emitted a hungry growl as the small room filled with the aroma of roasted vegetables. James pushed the pack over to her and she dug in eagerly with the provided utensils. She skewered what looked like a large piece of carrot, stuffed it into her mouth, chewed and swallowed, then smiled at him.
"Yum," she said happily.
"That bit I understood," he replied with a smile of his own. "And you know the great thing about these? It may look and taste like a simple plate of roast vegetables, but one of those actually has all the vitamins, minerals, etc that you need for a whole day."
"Graak," she said, polishing off the last bit of 'onion' then reached over and pushed the Dispense button. James tried to object but Sara held up a finger over his lips until the red light flashed green, then she removed the meal pack and got stuck into a synthi-steak dinner.
"No, see," James protested feebly. "You don't need another because one contains all the nutrients your body can use for a full day so-" He stopped and stared in astonishment as having polished off the synthi-steak in what must have be a Galactic record time, Sara again punched the dispense button and cackled with glee as she tore into a plate of synthi-fish.
James, who stood head and shoulders over her, and was easily twice her mass had only once managed to finish two meal packs in one day, and this petit young thing had just polished off two and was well into her third in less than ten minutes.
"I really don't think you should- Ah, hell you can't even understand me anyway," he sighed before falling silent. Sara quietly dispensed another meal pack and took a few bites before she stopped and stared at him. When he failed to react to her gaze, she made a beckoning gesture. James frowned at her in confusion.
"Mika mika mika," she said in a sing song voice while using her fingers and thumb to make a little talking 'head' with her hand.
"You want me to keep talking?" James asked, confused.
"Orton mika," she replied, repeated the same hand gestures.
James shrugged and obligingly began chatting inanely about his job, galactic politics, war rumours, the latest vidshows, and was well into a monologue on the difference between a ship and a craft, when Sarah, after taking one taste of her seventh meal pack, politely asked him to pass the salt.
"There you are," he replied, passing her the salt shaker. "Now, as I was saying, while most craft have only polarized hull plating to did you just ask me to pass the salt?"
"Yes," she replied. "Oh, right. Thank you. Always forgetting that I am."
"But you don't speak Standard," James said, ignoring all evidence to the contrary.
"I didn't," she replied. "But I do now."
"How?" he asked incredulously.
She shrugged. "The grammar and syntax were pretty easy, I'd gotten those figured out while I was still naked. The hard part was deciphering your language to the point where I could translate words I’d never seen before. Like salt.”
“How?” he asked again.
“I’m a pra- no that’s not it,” she frowned. “I’m a pre- no. Pro... prod... prodigy. That’s what I’m looking for. I’m a prodigy. With a very special gift when it comes to languages.”
“Ah,” said James. “How?”
Sarah giggled. “Well, I’ve got a cerebral implant, too, that speeds things up a bit. I’m still a prodigy though, but without the implant it would have taken me a few days instead of hours.”
“Handy, that,” James told his fork.
“Well our languages are actually quite similar,” she said.
“Says you, prodigy,” he replied. “I didn’t have a clue what you were on about.
Whatever her reply was going to be was cut off as the general quarters alarm screamed to life.
“Yeek!” went Sara as she dived under the table.
“[censored]!” went James as he sprang to his feet.
“[censored]!” went James as he clobbered his head on the low ceiling.
“Careful,” Sara called from under the table, but James was already racing to the bridge. “Mick yok dunger,” she muttered before running after him.

“Pirates,” James said tightly as she entered.
“Are they friendly?”
“Pirates are never friendly. They don’t let friendly people into the Pirate’s Guild.”
“Pity. Do we have any guns?”
“Four.”
“That good.”
“Only two work. And they’re designed for clearing asteroids. Slowly.”
“That’s bad. What are we going to do?”
“We,” James declared gallantly. “Are going to run very fast the other way.”
“Good plan. We’re faster than them?”
“Nowhere near it. But we should be able to make it to the nearest transit point before they’re in weapons range.”
“How long will that take?”
“One hour fifty eight minutes.”
“And how long till they’re in weapons range?”
“One hour fifty nine minutes.”
“Oh, my.”

[AgentZero]

End of Days

Forget the power of technology, of progress and understanding. Forget the promises of science and common humanity, for there is no peace amongst the stars, only an eternity of carnage and slaughter and the laughter of thirsting gods.


Oswald Alexander strolled absent-mindedly through the debris of a ruined city. Grey ash covered everything, swirling about his ankles, each step creating a miniature storm that raced ahead of him before exhausting itself and collapsing. His right foot brushed against something hard and he gave it a sharp kick, and a human skull burst up from under the ash and thudded dully down the road, coming to a rest face down in the depressing of a storm gutter. Oswald regarded it impassively as he continued on his way. He was a child of a shattered world, and the skull held no threat, no malice to him. It was merely one of an uncountable number scattered all over a city that once was home to millions, now inhabited by mere thousands.

He walked with his left arm held tightly across his chest, gripping the box of chocolates he'd bought for Ariel. He worked endlessly, trading whatever skills he had for a few meager coins to buy her presents, hoping fervently that one day he'd find the one that would make her better, cure her illness once and for all. He'd already bought chocolates before, and they hadn't helped, but they'd made her happier than anything else, and that was close enough, as far as he was concerned. Maybe one day he'd have enough money for medicine, or even a doctor, but until then he'd keep trying to keep her happy, or at the very least, quiet.

His grip tightened as a figure approached out of the mist ahead. The figure was walking with a pronounced limp, almost dragging his left leg behind him and Oswald's eyes tightened. There weren't many foolish enough so show any external signs of weakness outside, much less at night, and those who did were sometimes crazy, sometimes dangerous, and usually both. His right hand tightened on the gun in his pocket and he pulled back the hammer with his thumb. Most people took one look at his muscular physique and kept walking, but there were always those who felt lucky, or thought they could take him in a fair fight. Unfortunately for them, Oswald didn't make a habit of fighting fair.

As he approached, it soon became obvious that the figure wouldn't pose much of a threat. He was old, surprisingly so, gaunt and scraggly. Still, Oswald reminded himself, some of those old-timers could be mighty quick with a blade, and it was never wise to underestimate them. The old man suddenly veered towards him, holding out both hands, palms facing the dirty sky.

"Help an old man," he pleaded.
Oswald's gun was drawn in the blink of an eye, trained on the elderly man's forehead. "Nothin to give ya, old man," he said icily. "Keep walkin'."
The other man scuttled away, holding both hands up in front of his face, as if he could somehow ward off a nine-millimeter round. Oswald kept an eye on him until he'd disappeared around the corner, then tucked his gun away and quickened his pace. His gun hadn't held any ammunition in three years, and he didn't want the fact to become public knowledge if the old timer decided to round up a few friends.

Moments later, the shrill scream of an old man pierced the oppressive silence, followed quickly by an unmistakable snarl. There was a slim chance Oswald could have rescued the old man, frightened the attacker off by discharging a few blanks, but it was far more likely that he'd arrive in time to witness the grizzly sight of torn flesh being feasted upon, and would have stood a good chance of becoming a second course. He should still try, he reasoned, at least have a look and see what got the old guy. But it was a moot point. His body acted of it's own accord, and by the time those thoughts had made their way through his mind, he was already running.

[AgentZero]

The War to End All Worlds




“Shield failure! Port side, section sixteen!”
Admiral John Kellet, commander of the 23rd Terran Fleet, snapped his eyes to one of the readouts on his right side. It showed a simplified diagram of his superdreadnought with concentric lines around it, each one indicating a shield layer. At the moment, five of the eight lines were black, indicating a collapsed layer, and the outermost remaining line was a deep shade of orange, indicating that it, too, was near collapse. Along a significant stretch of the port side, all the layers were glowing various degrees of orange, and at the focal point of this stretch, where they’d just been rammed, there was a large gap. The force of the impact had torn through the superdreadnought’s shields and blown a sizeable hole in the side of the ship, penetrating through to her secondary armour. On the diagram, well inside this gap in the shields, a crude icon resembling two missiles, one above the other, indicated the location of one of the warship’s twenty-four armouries. The last of the ramming ships had been destroyed, and it would take several direct missile strikes to penetrate the ship’s thick armour, but if that happened…

On the display, the outermost shield layer suddenly disappeared, but the other layers strengthened and the gap closed as an engineer redirected the shield energies. Kellet’s attention turned to the tactical plot in front of him. It showed a three dimensional representation of the space around his ship, with different icons representing different classes of ships, green for friendly, red for hostile. At the moment there was a lot of red. It formed a rough half-ellipse that was steadily closing on his small wedge of green. Yellow icons symbolizing missiles zipped steadily back and forth between the two fleets. Almost all those headed towards Kellet’s fleet disappeared before getting too close to a green icon, the missiles falling victim to his superior point-defence. The same was not true of the enemy fleet. At this range, the human ship possessed a marked advantage over their enemy. More than half of their missiles were scoring hits, and every so often one of the red icons winked out. But the 23rd Fleet simply didn’t have the firepower to destroy the enemy ships fast enough, and Kellet knew that once they entered energy weapons range, the encounter would degrade into a merciless battle of attrition, one he couldn’t hope to win.

As he watched, a series of yellow icons intersected with his green, and moments later his communications officer piped up.

“Sir, the Ajax and the Valliant are reporting heavy damage,” she said, managing to sound calm despite the fact that she was young, despite this being her first time in combat, and despite being obviously terrified.

Kellet nodded curtly towards her. The Ajax and Valliant were two heavy cruisers assigned to screen Kellet’s Ardent. As if to reinforce the young lieutenant’s words, the ship shuddered violently as a series of missiles slammed into her.

“Lieutenant Murphy,” he said, addressing the com officer. “Signal the fleet to begin charging hyperdrives. Have the Ajax and Valliant pull back and tell the rest of Alpha group to form on our flank. We’re going to buy the fleet a little time.”

“Aye, sir,” Murphy replied, then turned to her station to carry out her orders. As she did so, the green icons on Kellet’s display began to fall away from the icons representing the Ardent and the rest of Alpha Group: the Renown, Trafalgar, Cerberus, Defiant, Dauntless, and the Raptor. The first two were massive battleships, the latter four, slightly smaller battlecruisers, though all were dwarfed by the size of the Ardent. Kellet had little doubt the rest of his fleet would escape. Terran ships were significantly faster than their opponents’ and would have little trouble pulling out of missile range before jumping to hyperspace. However, taking seven ships against close to twenty times that number presented much lower odds of survival, even if one of the seven happened to be a state-of-the-art superdreadnought.

Captain Aolo, commander of the Ardent itself stood off to Kellet’s left and slightly ahead. He now turned to his commanding officer and close friend.

“What’s the plan, sir?” Aolo murmured quietly.

“Half that fleet is remotely controlled,” Kellet replied just as quietly. “We’re going to drop under the plane of engagement, swoop up and hit the control ship with everything we’ve got, then jump out in the ensuing chaos.”

Aolo grinned wolfishly. Dropping under the plane of engagement was a little-used tactic amongst almost all space-faring races, a holdover from naval times which none seemed to be able to entirely shake. Even the design of warships seemed to reflect this, with the dorsal side of a ship mounting heavier and more numerous weapons than the ventral, so much so that displaying a ship’s ventral side to an enemy was a universally acknowledged signal of surrender. Early exposure to space combat had taught Terran shipbuilders the value of a well-armed ventral face, and thus Terran ships were unique in the known galaxy in possessing equally armed and armoured ventral and dorsal surfaces. This enemy, however, had yet to learn those lessons. While well shielded, their ventral face’s tended to be poorly armed and pitiably armoured.

Aolo turned away and began barking out the orders that would put Kellet’s plan into action. When he was finished, he turned back to the admiral with raised eyebrows, silently asking if Kellet and any further orders.

“Divert power from the secondary drive system, missile tubes and launch bays and pour it into the guns and shields,” Kellet said loudly enough for the whole bridge to hear. “And disengage the RoFL on all guns.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Kellet saw a couple engineers grimace. RoFL, or Rate-of-Fire-limitators were built into all energy weapons to limit the speed at which they could fire to allow the weapon systems time to cool down. In theory this would allow the weapons to fire indefinitely without overheating. If the RoFL were to be turned off, however, the guns would fire as fast as energy could be pumped into them. If forced to fire at this rate for too long, vital systems in the guns would fuse and fail, rendering them inoperable until extensively repaired or replaced. But Kellet knew they were going to need all the firepower they could get in order to take out the heavily defended control ship, and get out of the encounter alive.

“Control ship locked on,” reported the senior gunnery officer. “Approach vector optimal.”

“Twenty seconds to weapons range,” called out the helmsman. “Ten…five…in range!”

“Fire!” Aolo barked instantly.

On Kellet’s display, nothing changed. The display did not register energy weapon fire. The bridge, however, thrummed and shuddered as the superdreadnought unleashed incomprehensible amounts of energy. Her primary weapons concentrated on the control ship, while her secondary weapons tore into the ships around it. Some of the Ardent’s secondary guns were larger than the ships targeted by them, and these ships exploded brilliantly when hit, trailing fire and debris as inertia carried the wreck forward. Blots of energy flickered back and forth, but faded nearly to insignificance compared to the intensity of the Terran ships’ new beam cannons. The space around the two fleets was a dazzling spectacle of crisscrossing lights, streams of interceptor fire, bright beams of energy and stunning explosions.

But Kellet saw none of this, only the sterile view of his display that showed his whole task force blinking as they took fire, and red dots vanishing from view, only to be replaced by new ones.

“Sir!” This time Lieutenant Murphy didn’t sound calm. “The Raptor’s reporting a total shield failure!”

Kellet flicked a switch on his command chair, opening a direct link between him and the Raptor’s captain. Through the captain’s mike, Kellet could hear yelling, the hiss of fire extinguishers and the crackle of overloading circuits as the unshielded vessel continued to take fire.

“Captain Milligan!” Kellet shouted into his own mike. “Drop back to our port quarter! We’ll cover you while you-”

His earpiece erupted with incoherent noise then abruptly went quiet and Kellet saw the Raptor’s icon flicker off the display.

“Received Code Omega from ITS Raptor,” Murphy said quietly.

Kellet cursed silently. Simon Milligan had been a friend since the Academy, and the Raptor’s first officer had been Marie Kellet, a distant cousin.

“The fleet has entered hyperspace,” Murphy reported from somewhere in the foggy distance.

“All ships, concentrate all weapons onto primary target,” Aolo said through gritted teeth. Kellet was surprised he managed that much. Aolo and Marie Kellet and been engaged for three months. They’d planned to get married in another few months when they were both scheduled for leave. The admiral rose and squeezed Aolo’s shoulder firmly. The captain turned and looked back at him with an expression of the purest agony.

“You’re relieved, John,” Kellet said quietly.
The Ardent’s commander nodded shakily and all but collapsed into his command chair, and sat there, staring blankly at an unpowered monitor.

“Primary target is losing shield cohesion!” announced the tactical officer.

“All available power to the weapons,” Kellet ordered. The lights on the bridge dimmed slightly as every spare bit of energy was poured out through the weapons arrays.

“Primary target dee-stroyed,” the tactical officer said with evident satisfaction.

“Nice work, Guns,” said Kellet. “Now. Launch six Nova bombs, and helm, get us the hell out of Dodge.” The two officers chorused their ‘Aye, sir’s and six slow moving yellow spheres slid out of the Ardent’s icon as it turned away chaotic mess that was the enemy fleet. Nova bombs were extraordinarily powerful ground attack weapons, one or two being all it took to annihilate all life from a planet. As space-borne weapons they were virtually useless, their slow speed, large size and lack of any real manoeuvrability making them easy pickings for point-defence systems. But with the enemy fleet in total disarray it was unlikely they even noticed the bombs’ launch.

“Jumping to hyperspace now,” the navigator informed them.

The hull lurched strangely, seeming to jerk up, down, left, right, back and forth all at the same time. The red dots disappeared from the plot, leaving only six green icons as the fleet entered hyperspace. Kellet turned his head to the ship’s status monitors and winced. Only one shield layer still remained, glowing a deep red that signified it would be unable to stop most weapons. There were yellow, orange and red splashes all over the ship, indicating damage to the armour, and on a different screen, the damage to the ship’s internal systems. Half the ship’s guns were damaged beyond use, and a third of the rest were critically overheated. Main engines only had half power, and the hyperdrive was operating at a quarter of maximum. Kellet dropped into his seat and reviewed the latest damage and casualty reports from Alpha Group as a whole. Significant damage to all ships; ninety-two dead; four hundred-eight wounded. And then there was the Raptor. A state-of-the-art battlecruiser and three thousand men and women, gone.

“Admiral?”

Kellet looked up to see one of the engineers standing a couple meters away.

“Sir,” the engineer--Marcus Ramsey, according to his name badge—said. “We’ve detected a fluctuation in the hyperspace field. We think it’s related to the damage the drives took. It’s not serious, but-” The engineer hesitated. He was visibly upset and having difficulty controlling himself. The cause of his anguish scrolled by Kellet’s screen just as he was about to ask the engineer. Kajata Ramsey: Navigator, ITS Raptor. Marcus Ramsey’s little sister.

“Marcus,” Kellet said softly, breaking one of the cardinal rules of military etiquette and causing the engineer to look up quickly.

“We all lost someone close on the Raptor,” Kellet continued in the same soft tone. And we will grieve, and we will have vengeance, but not now. Not today. Understand?”

Ramsey nodded. “Yes, sir. Thank you sir,” he said, though his voice still trembled slightly. “The drive filed fluctuation isn’t serious yet, sir. But in about an hour, it’s going to yank us out of hyperspace. Hard.”

“How hard?” asked Kellet.

“The battleships and us should be able to take, but the BCs will be torn to pieces.”

“What would happen if we took our hyperdrive modulator offline?”

Ramsey shook his head. “The instability is now part of our drive field. The only way to correct it would be for us to drop back into normal space and make repairs before continuing on.”

Kellet exhaled heavily, staring at the tactical plot in front of him. Their covert mission had taken them deep inside enemy territory, and even at full hyperdrive speed, it would still take three days to get clear. He keyed in a few commands, and the plot zoomed in on a single system: Odin’s Star. The system where, in one hour, Alpha Group would be wrenched from hyperspace and three battlecruisers would be destroyed, and nine thousand men and women would lose their lives. It was also a heavily populated enemy system and bound to b e crawling with hostile warships. Scrolling back out, he stared at the icons representing the eight star systems they would pass through before reaching Odin’s Star.

“The BC engineers are upgrading the inertial compensators and altering the modulation of the shields as we speak,” Ramsey continued. “So, in theory, when we-”

“Will it work?”

Ramsey and Kellet turned to look at Captain Aolo. He’d risen from his chair, and while outwardly composed, Kellet could sense the pain and turmoil writhing within his childhood friend. Ramsey’s shoulders slumped.

“No,” he admitted. “It won’t do a damn thing.”

Kellet nodded slowly, then thumbed a switch on his chair, opening a communications link with another section of the ship. “Have Commander Matthews report to the bridge,” he said quietly. Not quietly enough, he noticed, as several nearby crewmen shifted uncomfortably. A few moments later, the bridge doors ground open and Matthews strolled onto the bridge. Despite their best efforts, the male bridge staff were unable to keep themselves from staring. Commander Sarah Matthews was, by all accounts, stunningly beautiful. Her shimmering black hair reached down to her shoulders, noticeably longer than military regs permitted and her sparkling green eyes focused solely on Kellet as she strode towards the admiral’s chair, her slender body swaying sensuously as she approached. Kellet rose to return her salute, then waited as she snapped an equally crisp salute to Aolo, before nodding upwards at Ramsey. Matthews was a fair bit shorter than the Terran norm for females, though one would be hard pressed to find a man who would complain about it. As she turned back towards Kellet, a slight smile tugged at her lips.

You look like [censored], her voice echoed in his head. Along with being the head of the 23rd Fleet’s Intelligence Division, Matthews was also a high-ranked member of the Psy Corp, meaning she possessed both powerful telepathic and telekinetic abilities. Kellet ran a series of numbers images and memories through his mind, a special code that would unblock the conditioning in Matthews mind for a short while, and allow her to receive his thoughts.

You’ve looked better yourself, he replied, letting his eyes wander over the freshly treated gash in her forehead. How’d you earn that, he inquired. Power overload?

No, she replied. McPherson’s coffee mug.

Kellet chuckled despite himself, drawing curious looks from Aolo and Ramsey, both of whom were completely oblivious to the exchange between the two. Kellet ignored them and had Ramsey explain the hyperdrive situation to Matthews. When he was done, Matthews turned back to Kellet.

“So, exactly what do you want me to do about it?” she asked bluntly. Members of the Psy Corp were not renowned for their subtlety.

“You know enemy space better than anyone,” said Kellet. “We need to find somewhere quiet where we can drop out of hyperspace and make repairs.”

“There,” Matthews replied instantly, pointing to a system on the tactical plot. “The Ootek’rey System. Uninhabited due to the lack of any hospitable worlds. Only two planets orbit it’s star, and both are completely barren, devoid of any resources or even atmosphere. If you want somewhere to hide, there’s your spot.”

“Ramsey?” Kellet inquired, noticing that the engineer was shaking his head.

“Ootek’rey is forty-eight minutes out, sir,” he said. “By then, the field imbalance have gotten to the stage where making transit would be fatal to our BCs.”

“Then they won’t make transit,” said Aolo. “The Ardent, Trafalgar and Renown will jump in-system, make repairs, then catch up with the rest of the fleet at the rendezvous point.”

Ramsey cleared his throat uncomfortably. “Problem is, sir, only the Renown and Ardent have functioning hyperdrive modulators. If we jump out, the BCs will be trapped in hyperspace, and have no way to manoeuvre, let alone jump back into normal space.”

“But the Trafalgar’s drive is working?” asked Aolo.

“Yes, sir. Perfectly,” Ramsey replied.

“Then the Ardent will jump alone,” Kellet informed them. “The rest of Alpha Group will carry on without us.”

“Without our screening ships we will be extremely vulnerable if discovered,” Aolo pointed out.

“Agreed,” nodded Kellet. “But unfortunately, we don’t seem to have much choice.”

Forty-five minutes later, a strange thing began to happen in a lonely patch of space in the Ootek’rey System. The very fabric of space began to twist and contort, pulling and straining, bucking and heaving until suddenly it split wide open and the vast energies of hyperspace spewed outwards for a brief moment, until they were blotted out by the Ardent as she thundered into normal space.

[Renegade 13]

Hmm...no time to read 'em all at the moment but the title of one, The God That Failed, by any chance is that named after the Metallica song by the same name?

[JAFisher44]

Wow, not an easy choice. I chose the last one, as I love epic space opera, but I enjoyed what there was of each of them. The God That Failed, and End of Days seem interesting, but don't really have enough for me to go on. End of Days really piques my interest as I have always been a post-apocalypse junkie. Frankly I would be interested in seeing work on all of them, but I had to pick one for the vote