Surrender to the Stars

[generaldisaster]

UNF Admiralty, Paris, Earth

“I don't like it one bit, Doctor, not one bit.” Admiral of the Fleet Sir Douglas Chamberlain was not having a particularly good day. The reports from the edge of the Union were not optimistic, and given that they were all from the almost undefended east, near Earth, he had good reason to be nervy – and the opinion of Doctor Weisshaupt was one of the few he valued, or indeed listened to.
“Perhaps you could use this to leverage some support to this end, Admiral?” Weisshaupt was a small, fat man with a bristling moustache, and sat in the too-small chair in the Admiral's office, surrounded by all his awards and accolades, he could not help but feel nervous. There was a glistening of sweat across his furrowed brow, and given the heat of this year's summer, that was only to be expected.
“Not very likely, I'm afraid. Our gelatinous neighbours are getting uppity, and the Parliament are more nervous about known threats than unknown ones. They are, after all, only human.” There was a moment in which Weisshaupt tried to work out if this was a mistake, and after seeing the glint in Chamberlain's one good eye, burst into laughter. He forced it a little too loudly, perhaps, and felt a distinct awkwardness when his ample frame stopped shaking. “Never mind. The Earth will be launching later today, and if I know that Adolf half as well as I think I do, we'll be fine. I still don't like the Uralyet building the Achilles, though.”
“Well, Doug, there are-”
The admiral raised a wrinkled hand to stop his old friend. “I know, I know. Another three months and we'll have her in our hands, but I'm a traditional old man with traditional thoughts on these matters.” He sighed, leaning back in the green leather chair behind his desk, staring out into nowhere. “When I was last a captain of a ship, they were still on the sea!”
“How times change, Doug.”
“I've had plenty of change in my lifetime, Whitey, and I'll be bloody glad to retire at the end of the year and settle down to golf and shooting.” Chamberlain, for all his experience, was, and always would be, an old-fashioned English gentleman, with all the foibles and interests of all the Englishmen that had come before, the odd sense of calm and determination that had served him well throughout his career. “If you take my advice, White, don't ever challenge a Klinat to a few holes – how they ended up so good at golf when they spend most of their time on four legs I shall never know.”
“Ah,” interjected the Doctor, who seemed more at ease now. “but we've certainly got them beat with basketball!” The pair laughed again, while the Admiral opened his desk, retrieving two glasses and a bottle of whiskey – 2003. A very good vintage, and at none too low a price. Still, if you couldn't poison yourself to happiness aged eighty-nine, when could you? God bless those aliens, thought the OBE, and their career-lengthening knowledge. This time twenty years ago, at his age, Douglas would have been about ready to die – now he had twenty or so years of retirement, perhaps another ten if he looked after himself properly – as if!

After a drink or two, Weisshaupt stood up, shook the hand of his dear friend, and departed. “It's a shame you won't come up the elevator with me, Whitey,” the Admiral had said, but frankly Weisshaupt had never trusted the space elevator, and while he was just as much a humanitarian (a term which had taken on a new meaning in the last decade or so) as the next man, he had to turn down the chance to ride with his friend – he had patients to see, and then he could watch the launch on the television, along with almost every other man, woman and child on the planet – it was a big moment, and even as he left the Admiralty, having dropped off his results from Chamberlain's medical exam from last week, he could feel the electric sense of excitement, anticipation and pride dancing in the Parisian summer morning air. As he walked past, he couldn't help noticing the BBC news team, with a well-groomed, well-suited gentleman talking into a camera – something to do with the launch.

“Inside this building, Admiral Chamberlain is preparing for the launch. He, along with the Representatives, will be watching the launch of the UNFS Earth from the Virgin Galactic Hotel, along with members of the Royal Family, including King William. It will be broadcast around the world, and we will be bringing you the live footage at four o'clock this afternoon.” This was easy – the news practically wrote itself! Everyone wanted to know every minute detail about about this launch, and just mentioning the Admiralty would get viewers, and they were very much conducive to Adam Wainright getting behind that desk at BBC Salford, rather than out here in France, where it was far too hot for his liking, and finding a decent cup of tea was like finding a buffet in the Sahara. “We were unable to get a statement from Rear Admiral Morgenthau-Ebersbacher, but we did get this press release from the Admiralty...”

The Scaffold, Control Centre

Lieutenant Perez was part of the team managing the final launch – it was hard, trying to contain herself under the circumstances; here she was, in charge of a section of docking clamps on Man's premier ship of the line, on the threshold of really crossing into space, becoming a real part of the Union. She had been there at the launch of the Winter, the first warship, and the Spring, which she had served on before losing her left leg, and now here she was, part of the crew that would see the Mothership away. A series of voices from the ship crackled across the radio headset to all those standing or sitting at the consoles within the Scaffold, zero-point energy humming on the metal floor, latching them to the metal plates at a steady 0.94 G.
“This is Earth, reporting engines on line.”
“Weapons on line.”
“Construction on line.”
“Countermeasures on line.”
“All systems gold, we are ready.” Perez moved a hand across the console, green lights on all the ignition systems showing, glowing through the gaps in her fingers, lights dancing across her face in the relative gloom, lit only by the colours of the consoles.
“This is Scaffold. Prepare for alignment.” Perez pressed down on the light-console, forcing her finger through the photons to engage the alignment burners, shifting the Scaffold to zero degrees against the galactic plane. The silent engines outside burned as the Scaffold rotated, bringing the Earth up to the target trajectory, ready for launch. Blinking away a patriotic tear and scolding herself for being so damned silly during a military operation, Perez steadied her headset microphone with a trembling hand and spoke. “Scaffold is aligned. All systems green. Prepare for launch.”

Ten minutes passed as checks and balances moved through. Inside the Earth the hard disks were linked together and the CPUs linked up on the massive core, the computers coming alive with all the data flowing freely from one section to another. Everything was ready – the Admiral and crew were aboard the ship, the Cruisers were on standby for their return, and mankind was ready to join the rest of the Union in the stars. The escorts were docked in the hangar, and every human watching could feel the pride swelling in their chest. The responsibility of pressing the damn button was a cruel mix of kindness and unfair pressure, all mixed up with a quasi-nationalistic pride and self-belief. Homo Sapiens were ready, now, and in just a few seconds their new era would begin.
“This is Scaffold. Releasing docking clamps in ten. All systems green, engines hot. Five. Four. Three. Good luck, Earth, releasing clamps now.” Pressing another key, there was a shift on the floor as the massive mag-clamps that had held the Mothership in port for five years released, retracted into the Scaffold, and the four fusion engines began to burn, ice streaming from the exhaust.

The Earth began to move, slowly, out of port, while in the Scaffold, on the televisions and in the cruisers, applause was, for just that moment, the one thing that unified all of the peoples of the United Nations together. The tip of the Earth left the Scaffold, before the rest of the main body of the ship, the wide rear engines with the hangar, and the bridge. Man watched and waited for those seven words they had been working towards for five long years. The long, grey spear broke from the magnetic control field and pushed out into the vacuum under the power of it's own engines, a blue, ghostly trail of ice left in her wake from the fusion exhausts. Lights danced along the surface of the ship as computer systems lit up and corridors became illuminated by engineers rushing to complete their checks. Gun turrets rotated, tracking bits of dust while the ruby-crystal lasers lit up here or there, zapping errant pieces of dust or tiny rocks, the bane of any ship out here, where even a tiny speck of dirt could run straight through a hull and kill the whole ship's company - when the words finally came, they seemed otherworldly, like they had come from some sort of fairy story.

“This is the Earth. We are away.”

Perez couldn't help but smile at the beauty of it – a magnificent feat of engineering. As intricate as the mechanisms in her prosthetic leg, as beautiful as a Klinat choir, and as mysterious as how Lax went for a shit – oh, if only she could have been on there, for just a minute or two – how must they have felt, stationed on there? Given that she was absolutely overwhelmed, brown eyes watering and pearly white teeth shining in a smile wider than Orion's Belt, how could those men and women out there even function, stop themselves from jumping up and down with joy every millisecond and get work done? It seemed an impossible challenge, and perhaps, thought Perez, it was a good thing she wasn't aboard – she wouldn't have been any use in this state. There would be plenty of time for celebration when they returned from the warp-drive test, and with that thought came a terrible, shuddering cloud, casting a gloomy shadow over the joy – there was always the possibility that they wouldn't come back. Wrapping a hand around the silver crucifix, the latina starting praying, even while the applause continued.

“Hey, Augusta!” A voice called her name, followed by the pop of a champagne cork. “We can't drink this all by ourselves!”
“Well then, Akira,” retorted the Argentinian, “I'll have to help you get rid of it!” There was time for praying later – Akira was right, she mused, watching him fill glass after glass. If she couldn't celebrate now, when could she?

Bridge of the Earth, Extrageostationary Earth Orbit

“Admiral, proceed with the test.”
“Ja vohl, Scaffold.” Admiral Morgenthau-Ebersbacher stood at the back of the bridge, hands behind his back. His uniform, service grey with a black trim, clung tightly to his body. As much as he was glad to be here, in command of the most technologically advanced vessel in the UNF, he still disliked the spacesuit-style uniforms – perhaps if there was a hull breach, he'd be happy to have them, but since Captain Leatham was at the countermeasures console, he doubted one would occur. The German didn't much care to find out what they were made of – it was some composite polymer, designed to breathe in one layer and stay fast in another, through some piece of engineering wizardry that Adolf didn't really find all that enthralling; impressive, yes, but not terribly interesting. His name, stitched onto the left breast above the long service ribbons, was probably the longest in the room, a fact which made the thirty-eight year-old man smile inwardly, watching the officer crew at work – whichever architect had decided on this design for the bridge, he clearly had a thing for lying down.

Each command console was above a black reclining chair, so that the officers up here nearly had to lie down to work, each station about three feet below the main floor level, recessed into the structure. The plastoglass and steel-aluminium superstructure formed the rest of the bridge, perched on the top of the rear section of the Mothership, protecting the crew co-ordinating every system from up here on their lofty position, looking and assessing from on high. There must have been a century of combined experience in here, each officer a member of the net effort in the same way as the Lax – strange creatures, they were, always very hard to read in conversation – even other Lax rarely spoke to each other, happy as they were to simply exist within themselves, with the rest of their little germ friends. We're not so different, I suppose. We're all just cells working together.

The cells in Adolf's body had worked together very well in his youth, which was why he was over six feet tall – while he had been very glad as a teenager to be the tallest person he knew, it made space travel a misery, since he spent most of his time in tiny cruisers banging his head on portholes or bulkhead frames. His hair had long since left his head, migrating to somewhere beyond his reach, which was why he kept his black moustache and beard, in the fashion of the old sailors from before the Great War – with a name like his, he was certainly never going to wear a toothbrush moustache, no matter how much more convenient it was. He had tried that at the Officer's College in Berlin, and even the instructors had spent most of their time ribbing him for it – even the Padre had taken it as a chance to have a good laugh at his expense, which was perhaps why he always seemed so stern. Adolf was not a man given to smiling, and his blue eyes were almost always hidden behind squinting eyelids, a habit when deep in thought, concentrating on a tricky problem. It was that determination to defeat problems that had given him the four long-service ribbons, and the knowledge that he would have never been any good at life outside the UNF – not enough order, discipline or short haircuts.

“Enough sinking,” Adolf muttered to himself, his accent warping the 'th' into an 's'. He was all too aware of the running jokes amongst the crew, giving him the nickname 'The Reverthed Lithp.' It helped them stay happy, he supposed, and as far away from home as they would be going, two week's laser-message away, those little joys would keep them cheerful enough. “Mister Philips, prepare space-warp drive,” boomed the Admiral, now in full command, radiating his usual aura of leadership and wisdom with the assistance of the occasional touch of shouting. The uniform certainly helped, despite how ridiculous the Rear-Admiral might have felt, always paranoid that the garment looked as tight as it felt – the chemists who had come up with these polymers had yet to synthesize a chemical to make him feel any better about wearing a space-suit. If he had known that transferring from the blue-water navy would end up with him in such a silly-feeling garment, he might never have done it. Naturally, they looked nowhere near as revealing as he imagined them to be, but it was these little moans and nags to himself that got him through each day – that, and very large guns. There was no problem so bad that it could not be made to disappear, even if just for a short while, by blowing something up with a very large gun. In sat respect, at least, the commanding officer pondered, the Americans are on to something.

A minute passed before he responded, and the Rear-Admiral nodded as he paced the deck. “Compute for edge of Uranus' orbit and engage.” A few seconds passed, before there was a tiny moment when time seemed to stop, before a voice came back – the computer.
“Destination reached.”
“Fantastich. Everyone, get out of here for half an hour. Go enjoy yourself, but don't have too much fun. Ve still have to get sis ship back to the Scaffold aftervards.” There was a silence, as though everyone expected the stern-lipped man to turn around and start swearing at them, belaying his commands and ordering them to push the damn thing back. “Go on, I'm sure you've all had bets with the duller crew that we would explode or turn inside out, get out, sirty minutes!” Finally, Adolf cracked a smile and waved his hands toward the door. “Go on, aus, aus!”

It would be the last moment of flippant celebration the crew of the Earth were going to get in a very long time, but there, at that jovial moment, they would never have suspected a thing.

[Mercenary Lord]

Lieutenant Commander Cormac, Head Tactical Officer and a structural engineer aboard the Earth, raced along one of the ship's catwalks, searching for flaws in the machinery and dents that might lead to hull punctures further into the voyage. He was relentless, scouring every fraction of every centimeter fully. He been at this for nearly three days, preparing a report for the ship's commander, Admiral Morganthawhateverhewascalled. Cormac decided to call him Adolf right then and there, not because of any particular closeness with the Admiral, but more because he'd be damned if he was going to try and remember such a long name. He'd only end up making a fool of himself. The Admiral didn't seem to want to make friends, anyway, he reasoned. The man seemed totally focused on the mission. Like I should be. Wouldn't it be great to cause the entire crew to explode because I missed a danger-spot. That seems like a fine way to start off my career in the 'big-leagues'. He shook his head, refocusing, and jotted another note down on the tablet he carried with him.

"Hey, you!" He called to another man in a lab-coat, doing the same job as Cormac did. "Can ya tell me how to get to the control bridge from here? I've nearly finished with my ship-scan, and being so focused for a few days has me really turned around. I'd appreciate a path there, if you'd be so kind."

"Yes, Sir!" The man saluted. Obviously, he was of a lesser rank than Cormac. "It's straight down the hall for about a quarter-mile or so, up the ladder there, and then you should have no problems!" The man hurried back to his post, busying himself with a bundle of cables, noting something about them on a tablet of his own. Probably the tensile stress of the wires or something similar.

Cormac shrugged, and jogged off in the direction he had been directed, thankful now for the loose engineer uniform he had insisted on. The heat had been stifling down here, almost unbearable, or at least to him. He was still used to the calm breezes of his childhood home, and this kind of airless room did nothing to help him forget it. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to home. His parents would be in their eighties now, and thanks to the Klinat technology he had insisted they obtained, the pair of them were fit, healthy, and not even close to their ends. He did wish he could have said goodbye, or at least have seen them before he left. He hadn't spoken to them for quite some time, and had all but forgotten them in the rush to get him aboard the Earth. He knew that he could always patch a video feed through one of the satellites, but his duties had prevented him the pleasure. He reached the ladder, still deep in thought, and nearly collided with the piece. I need to focus less on my old life and more on my new one. It was difficult for him, though. He had always had a sweet spot for Ireland. Most people who lived there hadn't appreciated it's beauty, but Cormac had relished in the heat of summer, had loved the windswept fields of the fall, the torrents of spring, and the chill, refreshing days of winter. The place would always be dear to him, and he knew that if he ever got the chance, that he would return there, and nowhere else, to raise a family, or live out the rest of his life.

He only refocused when he nearly walked smack into the ladder he had been told about. He scrambled up, popped the hatch to the thirty fifth floor, and scampered out onto the next deck, where he was nearly swamped by a wave of people. He was shocked by how many people had boarded the ship while he'd been down below, sleeping where and when he could, and almost never stopping. Around this fresh, clean people, he felt like a dirty rag. And yet, in any case, he needed to turn his report in to Adolf, but not like this. And slowly made his way through the tide of people, to the elevator, and ascended to the second deck, where he seemed to remember his cabin being. He strode down the hall until he found it: a tiny metal plate reading Cormac O'Farrell. He pulled the card-key from his pocket and slid it through the lock, and then pushed his way into the room. Throwing his uniform to the ground, he stepped into the power-shower and rinsed himself clean, scrubbing vigorously to get the dirt and grime off.

Five minutes later, he stepped out, pulled on his 'official' official uniform, and ascended to the top deck, where a pair of guards blocked a door. The door to the Officer's Club, he would imagine. He flashed the guard his insignia, and they stepped aside, allowing him through. As he passed into the room, he stopped for a few seconds, in awe of the space he saw through the gleaming dome, before he pulled himself to attention. "Cormac O'Farrell, Chief Tactical Officer reporting for duty. I have the full-ship data-scan requested. I oversaw it personally." He walked up to the Admiral, and handed him the report. "There you are, Adolf." And he set off to his own control console, which mostly consisted of ship data, at the moment. After all, they weren't under any sort of attack. He thought briefly, then pulled open a satellite-video feed-watcher on his console, and flicked it to one almost dead set over Ireland.

He zoomed in, easily finding Newcastle, and then zooming in even more, until-there! Cormac's eyes misted over. His mother and father were in the field, as usual, attacking the soil with the same reckless abandon they always did. They were grinning, and laughing, and Cormac felt his misty eyes tear over as he said one last silent goodbye. Down on the lower level, he had only focused on his duties, but up here, with Earth still in view, and a close-up of his past life, his emotions were twisting within him. "Goodbye, Ma, Dad. I promise I'll return to you someday. We'll work the farm like we always did." He wiped the few tears away, and then closed the link, storing the image of his parents in his mind forever. No problem with being careful...I might not come ba-don't even think that. Instead, he turned his eyes to the glass dome, and the space beyond, relishing in his first real look at the Final Frontier. He was ready for this adventure to begin. He amended himself quickly. As soon as everyone else comes back, of course.

[ANate]

Captain Leatham slid the black seat that had held him in his position at countermeasures out of its small "cubby hole" as he liked to call it so he could sit up. His station was between that of communications/translation's station and piloting. He smiled to himself as he stretched out, still in his seat, right before he stood up. Some of the boys down below had told him that he'd have some of the most work aboard the bridge; he supposed he could collect their small wager now.

He stepped up to Adolf, saluting. "Looks like we made it again, sir." he said with a grin. The Admiral waved his hand and gave a grin, dismissing Derrick.

He entered the elevator with the rest of those going down. He checked and saw that someone else had already selected Deck 2. He would swing by his quarters first, then head down to Deck 37's mess hall to tell Darrin and Shane all about how much of a mistake their bet had been.

He approached his quarters, one of the more easily accessible ones. He entered, glancing at the shiny plaque, especially at the place where his rank was. "Captain" it read. It still made him shiver. Deep down, he'd still answer to "Commander Leatham" if someone called him that. It was entirely possible that Shane and Darrin would do such a thing. Derrick said a silent prayer to whoever was listening that he wouldn't do something that stupid on the first day.

He grabbed his HEN (Handheld Electronic Notepad) and called up the countermeasure stations reports, showing all to be well. This was his proof. He trotted out of his cabin and jogged to the secondary elevator of that deck, and punched the button for Deck 37. This would be good.

His descent was swift and silent. Nothing at all like his first assignment. That ship had made enough noise to wake the dead... from lightyears away. Nothing but a very soft hum could be heard. He took a moment to take it all in. Here he was, at the forefront of the human race, aboard the Earth itself. A name that reflected humanity's goal. They all wanted the Earth (meaning the planet) to push itself all the way up to the forefront of the Galaxy. Either human arrogance, greed, or drive... one could never be quite sure. In any case, Derrick was now going to help to take things to the limit. Perhaps beyond anything the Union itself had seen before.

The elevator beeped to signal his arrival, interrupting the momentary delusions of grandeur the entire species was prone to. He stepped out into the hallway, and with his hands swinging at his side, showing that he was here to relax with the "scum". He turned into the Mess, and spotted Darrin and Shane there. The two had been with him during training, and pure chance had seen them on the Earth. Even more, working in countermeasures. They had seen him as well, and waved him over. Neither of them had any food; they were here to talk.

"Shane, Darrin, how full are your wallets feeling?" said Derrick. It was rhetorical, of course. No one on this ship had wallets. "Because I'm about to take some of the weight."

The two gave a friendly fake groan. "You sure? Where's your proof?" said Shane.

"You don't need it, you buffoons. You work in countermeasures, so you know all about it. But anyways...right here," he said, showing them the HEN.

The two looked at the screen, even though they knew what they'd see. "I don't know..." Darrin said as he looked at Shane. "HENs can be hacked."

"Come off it, you two," replied Derrick with an affected stern look. "If my accounts don't have a bigger number in them by tomorrow, I'll have you court-martialed on trumped-up false charges."

The three laughed, but it was drowned out in the noise of the rest of the mess hall. And for that moment, the humans were content to have made it this far into the stars with their new vessel. But as always... things come to an end. And they would, when Derrick would start on his way back to the bridge later.

[Celestial]

Captain Lenevski strolled along the sides of the hanger bay. Pilots and mechanics alike were attending to their ships; the engineers busily attended to their tunings as they opened up the metal hulls of the strikers; the pilots sat in the cockpits tampering with the various instruments within. Claire had made it absolutely clear that the pilots were to make sure that their craft worked in pristine condition. The last thing she needed was any of the interceptors in the 1st to malfunction if they were to scramble.

She walked up to a group of pilots who were laughing in a corner. Their pilot helmets hung loosely to their sides as their g-suits were slightly unzipped in a casual manner. "Gentlemen," she said as the pilots snapped to attention. "At ease, I assume your given assignments are taken care of? How are the conditions of your ships?"

"Ma'am. Our respective fighters are in the green ma'am. We've submitted detailed reports as per requested. Ma'am."

She nodded in approval as she toggled the small data pad in her right hand. "Very good. Dimissed gentlemen." She walked away as the pilots threw her a salute. She made her way towards her squadron leaders that she summoned in the center of the hanger. They all threw her a crisp salute, which she returned. "Reports from all of you. What is the status of your squadrons; everything has proceeded smoothly I hope?"

A squad leader came forward. "No problems with Squadron one. We had slight targeting problems, but it has been resolved." The other squad leaders voiced the same answer, some reported no problems or a problem that was different from squadron one's.

With a nod of acceptance, Claire moved on to the next order of business. "I want full reports sent to me immediately -- when I say immediately, I mean in the next ten minutes. After that, the 1st shall be given down time. Understood da?"

"Understood ma'am." Upon being dismissed, all SL went about their tasks, for the promise of free time always made the men accomplish their orders with gusto.

As the reports flooded in, the Captain made her way towards the bulkhead of the hanger that led to the various hallways that existed with the Earth. She remembered when her orders had come in. It was a dream come true that she was assigned to the UNF's newest vessel. Inside it was an honor that she would not forget anytime soon or take lightly. She moved past a couple of busy crew man who threw her a salute before going about their duties.

Soon enough, she came upon the elevator that would take her to the floor where the main bridge was. She compressed the files on her data pad and formatted it in a neat report to give to the Admiral. She reviewed its contents again and nodded contently, for there was nothing too alarming or out of place.

As the elevator door hissed open, she moved with purpose as she checked over her uniform. Eventually, she came to entrance to the bridge where a pair of guards saluted and moved out of her way. She found herself in a vast room where numerous officers attended to their stations. She spotted the Admiral and made her way over. "Admiral Morgenthau-Ebersbacher Sir," said Claire as she saluted her superior officer. Silently, she wondered if she had said the name right. German names never came easy to her. "I have the report from 1st wing and have sent it to your terminal, Sir." She snapped a crisp salute and traversed towards her command terminal that was the master control for her wing. She began pressing a sequence of buttons as she performed a more thorough check up on her pilots and reports. Overkill? Da. But, I'd rather be safe than sorry. Let's see how the new recruits are doing... perhaps I'll request permission for a formation drill...

[The Australian]

00:30 (30 minutes) before the launch of the UNFS Earth

"But darling!" Lieutenant Jr. Ian Phillips exclaimed over the video chat he was having with his girlfriend from the computer in his cabin "I'll be fine! This blasted ship is safer than the Space Elevator! Hell, it's probably even safer than Glasgow at night!"

"I know, Ian, but still..." Chelsea, Ian's girlfriend, admitted. She chucked a bit at his comment on Glasgow "What if you don't come back? What if I never see you again?"

"For Christ's sake, I'll be gone for a little bit." Ian said with some truth in his voice. To be honest, he had no idea how long he would be stationed over in the eastern areas "You'll see me in all those pictures you have. I'm never truly gone, in the sense."

After a short bit of silence, where the two simply looked at each other through monitors on computers, thousands of miles away, Ian could hear the slow tap of a pair of feet along the hallway

"Look, love, I have to go...." Ian broke the silence, with regret and sadness in his voice "This isn't exactly how I wanted to say goodbye...."

"I know, but promise me this," Chelsea responded, sobbing behind her words "please laser message me. I want to hear all about your tour."

"Any time I can, love." And with that, Chelsea started crying, and disconnected. Ian shut down the programme as a familiar face came in

"Albert!" Ian exclaimed. Albert Ehrlichmann was a friend of Ian's. They had served together on the Romana and the Winter. Both were Lieutenant Junior's.

"Miss me?" Albert responded to Ian's excitement "I got posted to this cabin. Much better than the Romana, eh?"

In truth, the Romana was actually just being built, and hadn't gotten 'creature comforts' like gravity installers. In fact, it was much like the ISS from all those years ago, with all those wires running wild. The hellish part of it was that it the ammunition used by the gunnery systems with Ian and Albert commanded were kept from floating all over the station by Velcro straps.

"Definitely. Just got finished talking to Chelsea." Ian said casually. There were two desks on the opposite sides of the room, both with computers. Ian knew that he would rarely ever use them, and would probably spend most of his time up on the bridge.

"Oh that bird?" Albert said with a chuckle "I thought she got rid of you when you got posted on the Winter?"

"No, no, that was Jackson, remember?" Ian responded. Jackson was a man who had his wife file for a divorce when he was with Albert and Ian on the Winter. He shot himself in his cabin, and had his body incinerated. When the Winter returned to Earth, his ashes were given to his parents.

"Pity about him." Albert said with a sigh, dropping his duffel bag onto the bed "Oh, and some officer that looked really official said you were suppose to be on bridge!"

After Launch, Bridge of the UNFS Earth

After Adolf Morgenthau-Ebersbacher had given the order to rest up, Ian walked up the German admiral. "Hey, I like to get a little familiar with my commanding officers," Ian said, extending his hand "Helps to unite us and that rubbish."

Ian adjusted his 'uniform.' It was, at least, better than the parachute pants and tight shirt on the Romana. Hell, it was even better than the Star Trek-like uniforms on the Winter.

[Eyeris]

Old longings nomadic leap
Chafing at customs chain;
Again from its brumal sleep
Wakens the ferine strain.
~John Myers O'Hara

The Earth moved amongst the stars with a dove’s grace. Danette released the air she held captive in her lungs; she did not recall inhaling once sience the beginning of the lance. Though physiologically impossible, it was poetically appropriate. She had lost herself entirely in the profound moment.

They were now sealed within a metal chamber of air, wandering through the cold empty regions of space. They were set on a course to bring them farther from their mother-planet than any human had been before. Who knows what strangeness would be encountered in the mysterious landscape of space. Perhaps one reason they named the vessel Earth was to capture a feeling of nostalgia, and feel closer to home dispite traveling farther than ever. It was as if they had simply broken off a piece of their planet, to borrow for their journey, and would be destined to return home.

Danette had kept a jar of French-dirt from her home planet.

She stood straight and vigilant upon the bridge. As she watched the men and women hurry to enjoy their breif freedom she recalled the advice of her grandmother: “Have fun... not too much fun.” She quoted softly. Her chest swelled with pride, as she gazed from the crowd into the new frontier. We are at the pinnacle of humanity... on the threshold of a new existence for our entire kind.

Whilst most the crew were on their way out of the bridge one pushed against the crowd to make his way in. She stood by quietly regarding the exchange as he presented his report, then, returned to his console.

She tamed a stray ginger cul back into place with her fingertips, then crossed arms, resting them on her hips.

She sensed him, call it sisters intuition: She was always ready for his antics. She turned just in time to see it the projectile, whipping up her hand to intercept the object, catching it in right hand.

A book. She opens the cover “Il Principe” she reads from the block-printed cover page; an antique. She gave her brother a stern look.

“I got you a present!” K’eyush called to her in french. He was wearing a wide lop-sided grin on his dark featured face.

“I have already read it.” She responded in flatly, waving the delicate book in the air. It was most easy for her to sound disdainful in her native language, French.

“Not on paper.” He retorted. Danette was a modern woman, the only ‘real’ books she had ever read were those given to her by her brother. His grin traveled to the other side of his face. “I looked everywhere for an edition that old.” His dark eyes glinted, his sister showed turned up her nose, yet he was sure that she was secretly pleased. “Maybe you can sell it if you don’t like it.”

“Sell it? No one cares for these things anymore.” She responded with a sigh, closing the vellum-stretched covers and holding it tightly against her side: She would keep it out of necessity.

He straightened his posture; she tilted her face up to look upon him. His inky hair was combed back into a tight braid. “I wanted to congratulate you.” He saluted his sister, his superior officer.

The smallest of grins tugged upon her sharp serious face. She took a step to her younger brother: He towered her in height, his body was dark and long, his face round and friendly, she was a dwarf compared to him, fair and ginger, always serious. The two were clearly not related by blood, rather, they were bound by a deep bond of fraternity.

She placed a hand on his arm. “I must congratulate you as well. I am glad that we, together, share this honor. Our parents are proud of us both.”

“Join me for champagne?” K’eyush was itching to get off the bridge while he still could.

Danette shook her head. “No, I will remain here.”

“Workaholic.” He jibed as he turned away heading straight for the elevator. He passed Commander Lenevski, he gave her a quick salute as he ducked into the chamber ‘great, more workaholic women’ he thought to himself as he descended.

Danette, choosing to remain on the bridge, watched the Wing Commander deliver her report. When she was done, she went straight to her console. Dannette, unlike her brother, was pleased by the ethic her fellow officers displayed.

Another arrived, the Navigator, he introduced himself directly to the Admiral. Us and that rubbish? Danette bristled, displeased by his casual dismissive tone. She remained silent.

K’eyush, meanwhile, headed for the mess. He had not thought his sister would actually join him for celebration-shots. Perhaps he would find a more relaxed crowd here.

He passed a table of men erupting in laughter. He recognized Captain Leatham immediately, he cruised to a stop beside the table. “Captain Leatham, Gentlemen...” he nodded down to them, Countermeasures was such an interesting department. “Mind if I join you?”

[Mercenary Lord]

Cormac watched the screen for a few minutes as the computer ran it's final scan of the ship. When it came up one hundred percent intact, he sighed, and stood. His tears and bittersweet happiness had been quickly swept away by a burning excitement. It was his first time in the Bridge, and his first clear look at space. As much as he wanted to stare into the void, he reluctantly made his way over to the rest of the officers, who were loosely gathered in the middle of the area. He had subconsciously watched the officers as they went in and out, and several had caught his attention. The Countermeasures Officer, Derrick, had seemed jovial enough, and relatively fit for his position, near as he could tell. The man had an energetic vibe to him, like his two cats back home. He shook his head vigorously. They'll still be alive when you get back. Stop thinking about them! This is your family now. You've been away from home for long enough. Why are you blubbering like a baby over Newcastle now? Get over it! With the emotional part of his mind suitably subdued, he glanced briefly at the other officers. All competent, no doubt, it was simply a matter of finding those who were more 'competent' than the others.

His gaze raked over the officers, and he remembered a few of them from the briefing packet he had obtained. Heh, more like briefing book. There was Adolf, the Admiral, who Cormac had an immense amount of respect for, and there was Ian Phillips, who hailed from the U.K, near his own country. Cormac had read Ian's profile straight through. The man seemed friendly, and Cormac was more than willing to try and make friends. Unlike some others, he recognized the value of knowing your fellow officers well, and knowing how they thought. A stern woman, Danette -if he recalled correctly- caught his attention next. She was from...France? Yes, France. She seemed to be one of the unfriendly types, but perhaps it was an exterior. Cormac couldn't really tell, after all.

And then there was the last woman he recognized, Claire Lenevski, a Wing Commander. Being head of Tactical, he had felt obliged to read up on her, as well. She seemed to be one of the 'over-competent' people he had mentioned to himself, earlier. Finishing his inspection of his partners, Cormac nodded to himself. Yes, I like this crew, very much indeed. He smiled slightly. "Since Ian here wants us to bond, I'll go first. Cormac O'Farrell, Chief of Tactical. I'm also fairly influential within the Engineering division. According to our employers, my job is to 'save the ship from as much damage as possible, but patch up my mistakes afterwards.' He chuckled, and walked over to Claire, who seemed intensely focused. "Hm...Interesting."

He assessed the information on the screen quickly, processing it as best he could with his fairly exhausted mind. "Checking on the Wing recruits? You'll need to keep them active, although I'm sure you already know that. I think maybe a flight drill and and a cohesion drill might would serve excellently for the purpose of keeping the new guys sharp. There isn't too much that could attack us here, and so I don't believe a combat drill will be necessary, or at least today. If you try to get them fighting now, their hearts probably won't be in it. After all, this is a historic day. Many of the soldiers will most likely want to relax and enjoy being a part of this momentous occasion." He stood there quietly after he finished. Claire probably had some kind of plan. HE was tired, and anything he could come up with had been thought of, already, he was sure.

I need to get some sleep if I'm going to save our crew from horrible deaths later.

[generaldisaster]

The Scaffold, Control Centre

Lieutenant Perez had been more than happy to take part in the champagne-fuelled celebration, but only for one round; her team still had to work, after all, and Akira's bottle was not endlessly capacious. The Earth still had to come back from the test, after all, and there was still seven hours left on everyone's shifts before they could go down to the mess and get really drunk. Chances are she would either be discharged out of the service after the launch, or moved into some bureaucratic cubbyhole until there was a shortage of launch staff. She was proud to be here, no mistake, but she couldn't help feeling a little bit hollow, the knowledge that she was disposable bringing her down at least a little. Maybe she would go back to Cordoba, finally marry Luiz and have that family they kept talking about – would that be so bad? He kept complaining about being left alone for so long, after all, and that house he had bought seemed so large and empty without children.

Perhaps two or three? After all, population and resources were no longer big concerns, and a UNF pension would be pretty generous; more than enough to live on, and Luiz's position as a doctor was fairly cushy as well – for a short while, the future seemed to be all right, and an unaccountable sense of optimism was threatening to crawl up her spine. A green light flashed on her light-console, and Perez confirmed the signal; there was an incoming ship using space-warp drives. “Incoming ship, confirm identification.” Rurikovich, at the ID console, failed to respond. “Ruri, confirm, please.”
His response came nervously. “Ah...it's not ours.”
“If it's not ours, who the hell is it?” Ruri checked through all the records, and he confirmed his analysis.
“It's not transmitting a known ID. Not Union, not Grhun. Unknown ship incoming.”
“Transmit handshake in all known languages across all frequencies, rapido!” Akira followed the command, speaking into the microphone while passing the message through the translation matrices, and Perez couldn't help the optimism being squashed by her more characteristic nerves – nothing good was going to come of this – the Union knew about every ship in a thousand light years, and finding one with no ID transmission before it arrived was bad news. If they were lucky, it was just a freighter that had lost communication equipment, and was therefore broadcasting nonsense. If we're lucky. Think lucky.

The countermeasures would be fine, anyway – Perez had always trusted them, and they hadn't let her down yet. The flash came, and a ship materialised just above Martian space – and they were right. It wasn't something they recognised. It was shaped vaguely like a spindle, with a large, flat end with a crescent-like curve and a long, thin rod behind it, covered in a bone-white plating. “This is The Scaffold, UNF. Please respond and allow support ships to tug you toward a dock platform.”

It was then that an attack beam cut through The Scaffold and killed everyone aboard.


Bridge, UNFS Earth

The engines had re-cooked, and the half-hour was nearly over. Admiral Morgenthau-Ebersbacher had not left the bridge, preferring to spend his time reading the reports from the bridge team; he hadn't the time nor inclination to go having fun while he was still on shift. Perhaps this evening, he'd take the senior officers down to the Martian surface and have a drink or two; there was still a day or two until the Earth had to leave for the Reserve Fleets. Anywhere would be more enjoyable than the corridors of the ship; as much as he enjoyed these ships, and as at home as he felt aboard them, dark grey metal tended to have a slightly depressing effect on most people, and given how much time would be spent doing nothing at all on this tour, he would have to find some way to keep himself and the crew entertained. Perhaps the mess hall could be converted into a tennis court once a week – there was plenty of time to sort these things out, after all. Walking over to one of the light-consoles as he dropped into a chair, Adolf pressed down the intercom function with a slightly wrinkled, crooked hand and spoke. “This is the Bridge. Will all crew report to their stations and prepare for jump, repeat all crew stand ready for jump.

The bridge officers filed in and Adolf climbed back out of the recessed station, back onto the main deck where the sound of his boots against metal echoed around the glass bridge. Taking a radio from his belt, the Admiral spoke into it again, delivering yet more orders. “Wing Commander Lenevski, prepare for parade. All wings to deploy upon arrival in the system core.” Dropping the radio back to his belt, folding his hands behind his back again, in his customary pose, Adolf began to walk back up and down the main floor panel on the bridge, waiting for the senior officers to file into their positions. Nodding towards Leatham as he came in with what was dangerously close to a smile, the German came to the head of the bridge, turned hard on his heels and spoke. “Ladies and gentlemen, prepare for jump. Batten down the hatches and engage drive in your own time. Good luck.”

The computer began to calculate, and Adolf couldn't help crossing his fingers behind his back as Phillips typed in the commands – he had never enjoyed travelling like this. Poofing from point to point by ignoring the laws of physics never seemed quite right, somehow, and he was sure that at some point the universe was going to take revenge and turn them inside out or cause a planet to sideswipe them or something equally unpleasant. He had no idea quite how right he was, as the final calculation finished and the Earth folded through space.

“Orbiting Mars in extra-geo, sir,” came the response, and Adolf stopped crossing his fingers, visibly relaxed that his ship had arrived in one piece.
“Excellent. Contact the Scaffold.” There was a few seconds of silence, fully expected, but the response was a complete bolt from the blue.
“Sir...they're...they're not there.”
That was impossible. “Unmoglich. What do you mean?”
“I mean, sir, that the Scaffold is not responding. No traffic from Mars either. It's all blank.”
“Give us visual feed. All consoles.” This was not good – the network hadn't been blank in over fifty years, and the Scaffold was never empty. Something was clearly wrong here.
“Yes sir. It's...uh...you're going to want to see this.”

The Admiral marched over to Leatham's console, bending his knees to watch the video feed – it was not pretty. The Scaffold, which had taken three years to build, was severed into three or four blackened pieces. Wreckage and corpses floated through the space around it, while the charred remains of a few vessels floated around it, dragged by gravity. Eventually it would either become a satellite or crash into the earth – and while this was awful, the next video feed was even worse. Switching to a view of Mars from an orbital camera, Adolf felt a wave of nausea and fear pass over him, something he had not experienced in a very long time. “Gott in himmel...”

The Martian surface was no longer red, with the green patches and blue seas people had come to expect – it was completely grey, with dots of orange and yellow. Vast amounts of wreckage danced around the planet, while a few vessels, engines stricken, floated aimlessly amongst them. The silence aboard the bridge was deafening, because everyone knew exactly what had happened – Adolf only said it to make sure he wasn't dreaming. Where was the Union now? What the hell had happened? What had Man ever done to deserve something like this? “Mars has been firebombed. O'Donnell, surface temperature and survivor readings, immediately.” It was a futile gesture. The planet was still burning, and there was almost no probability that anything still lived on Mars – it was a dead planet, and everyone knew it. A billion people lived there; their dreams, their aspirations, their families had been burnt out like a firework, and they never even knew it was coming. If it had happened just half an hour earlier or later, perhaps the Earth could have been there to stop it.

Was this my fault? If we hadn't hung around outside the system, could we have stopped this? The weight of responsibility seemed to be getting bigger and bigger every moment, utterly tangible upon the Admiral's shoulders. Grabbing his radio with a trembling hand, he spoke, voice shaking like the rest of his body. “Wing Commander, all wings out. Search for survivors in the immediate area and bring them in. Captain Leatham, play back that camera recording.” It was not pretty viewing; a great ship, twice the length of the Earth, shaped like a vast needle, had appeared by warp, fired beams at the Scaffold and the Mars Satellites, and then deployed huge numbers of missiles at the surface, and the camera had just watched ineffectually as the planet had been destroyed. Saving the recording on the computer's databanks, Adolf stood back up, and another voice sounded – the translator.

He said something about receiving a message from another ship, and Adolf's head turned like lightning. “Put it on speaker. Leatham, prepare countermeasures. I want weapons ready.” The lieutenant commander did so, and the crackling, static-filled communication was almost more unnerving than the pictures outside. Let's hope nobody was watching outside the portholes.
“This is....Winter...1st Support Group with us...engines off to avoid detection...request support...evac.” Now, at least, the crew could do something – anything – rather than watch the efforts of a generation burning outside.
“Engines, proceed to their coordinates. K'eu...Kar...Kay,” barked the Admiral, struggling with the nordic name and giving up, “contact them and inform them that we are en route. Issue a general emergency message and contact any Union vessel within range. I want a laser-message to the Homeworlds, and I want the hangar clear for any strike-size ships able to board. Prepare damage control teams to board any ships too large for the hangar for repairs.”

The Earth heaved around Mars, toward the other ships, hidden behind the other side of the planet. They were sat there, engines off-line, the 1st Cruiser Group and Support Group Alpha, minus one ship, which he imagined had been on-planet when...when it happened. A few small fighters moved around them or sat on the Support Group's main docking plate, and that was when it finally hit Adolf; the crews there, and on the Earth, were perhaps the only Martians left in all the universe.

[Adjectives]

Jenny rushed around her department as the final checks reverberated throughout the planet below and Earth itself. She moved through the rows of technicians stood at their stations, their fingers dancing across their holographic screens, dragging information between tablets and work stations and rushing around the room with said information like ants for their ginger-headed queen. Yet despite the innumerable simulations of this moment that they had gone through, things seemed to be going significantly well.
"Did you iron out the glitch with the heating matrix in the exhaust system?" Jenny asked calmly, leaning in over a small-eyed Russian girl whose tiny fingers were perfect for the holographic screens of the technical department. "Yes." The girl replied quickly, turning and forcing a petite smile. "It was a simple power distribution problem." She said, staring at her superior for a reply. "Just keep watch of it. Well done." Jenny smiled. "Yes ma'am."

Then the ship began to move. Jenny didn't have to look to sense the smiles that grew on everyone's faces, despite the rigorous and stressful checks that they were performing. "Well done everyone!" Jenny called, noticing her subordinates glancing from their screens to the wall-to-wall plastoglass as they drifted away from The Scaffold. Jenny knew they were all dying to get away from their work stations. She moved across to the main control console, where in blue and white the ships stats were readily available. Everything was as it should be.

"Alright, don't tell anyone. You can have a wee break." Jenny sighed playfully, glancing across to the entrance should Adolf stroll in. She reached beneath her control console and pulled out a phone, jogging across the room to stand opposite from the window. "Come on, group photo of us leaving the Earth and our pals in the scaffold behind!" Jenny grinned, seeing the technicians hesitantly yet excitedly hurry across the room to the window, Earth glowing behind them. Setting the photo on timer, Jenny ran across the room and skidded to a halt in front of the technicians. "Say Uranus!" Jenny smiled.

Once the photo was taken, Jenny moved across to her phone and with a gesture, it jumped from her mobile to the middle of the room. She grabbed the hologram by the edges and pulled it apart so the whole room could see it. The technicians broke out into conversation, squabbling and laughing over the photo whilst the ship warped around them with a dull humming sound.

"I think that's our cue to get back to work." Jenny called, grabbing the hologram and pulling it back into her phone which she shoved into her pocket in a clandestine manner. "Diagnostics on the warp drive, ablative exterior for deterioration and an internal scan on systems please. Private Johnson, can you pull up the communications feed? I won't believe there isn't someone somewhere needing a computer turned off and on again." She said, making her way across to the main console. "Yes ma'am." He replied, drawing up the holographic screen into the centre of the room. There was already a list of departments requiring assistance with non-critical systems. Jenny rolled her eyes. "Can I get five volunteers to go on a walk down to decks three, seven and twenty two?" Jenny asked. Like schoolchildren attempting to leave class, a small group rushed towards the exit doors which whooshed open.

After a while Jenny resorted to milling around the room, glancing out of the window in a childish glee above Uranus, amazed by it's blue glow which resembled the sky back on Earth. She could see why the planet was named after the Greek God for the Heavens. “This is the Bridge. Will all crew report to their stations and prepare for jump, repeat all crew stand ready for jump.

"You heard the man." Jenny said, moving across to the main control console. She did the usual, calling out necessary checks as they jumped back to the system core. As they did, Jenny grabbed the necessary information to compile in a message to the commanding officer. "This is lieutenant Whyteman, Head Systems specialist. There's nothing to worry about, a couple of power distribution flaws in the coding but they've been resolved. End of message." Jenny said in a pleasant tone to the recorder before she sent away the report.

"Lieutenant.." A voice said over her shoulder as she flicked through her inbox. "Yes?" Jenny replied nonchalantly. "You'll want to see this."
Jenny frowned and looked to the young man, who indicated towards the window. Jenny turned and looked at the window. "What is it? I don't see anything." Jenny growled, growing irritated as her department seemed to turn to her in shock. A woman screamed down by the window. "Mars has been firebombed." He croaked. Jenny froze, opening her mouth to say something but words didn't seem to come.

There were a few moments of silence. Jenny looked down to her console, her fingers rapping across the controls expertly. Metal shutters slid over the windows quickly, blocking out the view of the scarred planet instantly. The ship's computerised voice filled the room. "Damage control teams urgently required in the hangar bay and available for transport to external ships." The message repeated as if in panic. "Come on, you all heard it. We can mourn later. I want you all kitted up and in the hangar for repairs to damaged ships. Follow me out. You, take over the main controls. If we're attacked, I want shut downs of damaged areas and non-critical systems power pooled back into the fusion reactors. Do you understand?" Jenny said, her tone one of authority for once. She pulled on a large white suit along with the other technicians and a black box full of tools.
"Yes ma'am."
"All follow me." She called, running towards the elevator.

[Eyeris]

K'eyush flopped back down into his console-chair. He wound up taking the shot on his own, even if it was bad-luck. At his size, the drink had no effect, save the bitter tang that lingered on his tongue. It refreshed his senses.

He produced a pair of large head-phones from his desk. They were not standard-issue, they were much larger than the other head sets and ear-pieces his fellow crew members wore. They were like ear-muffs, most found them to bulky and uncomfortable to bother with. He had requested them especially for his job; they were designed to block out background noise whilst focusing on the difficult alien speech.


K’eyush took in deep breath of freshly-manufactured-Earth-air as the ship returned to normal-space-time orbiting Mars. His fingers flew over his console screen. Most comicated over the airways with languages standardised by the United Nations (also aboard the Earth): English, Mandarin, and French. K’yush always liked to keep an ear-out for the stray local-tongues.

Something was wrong...

K’eyush looked up from his desk as they announced what he had already heard:

Nothing.

Something must be broken... the communications link? He instructed his computer to scan for programming errors.

No errors to report. Visual confirmation. K’eyush slumped back in his chair, his face turned grey, and clay-like. Kazumi...

Kazumi, his martian soul-mate, or as it turned out, college girl friend. They spent two wonderful years studying together; she was brilliant and beautiful. He wanted to marry her... but, he did not want to have children... she did. When their college program closed K’eyush was recruited into the Union Language Exchange... and Kazumi left for Mars to finish her studies there and start a family. He never saw her again, yet, the weight on his heart did not lessen. She was not the only Martian he knew either...

The silence was interrupted by as woman a few chairs over burst into hysterical tears. K’eyush had invited her for a shot in the mess, she had politely rejected his offer. He had learned that she was from Mars... he yearned to comfort her, but his body was made of stone.

Voices. In his ears; in his headset. Lightning coursed through his body as he body snapped back to attention. “I-Hear something! Incoming Message!”... his voice seemed distant... “I repeat! Incoming message!” He wanted to make sure he was clear.

He queued up the audio for the entire bridge:

“This is....Winter...1st Support Group with us...engines off to avoid detection...request support...evac.”


“Engines, proceed to their coordinates. K'eu...Kar...Kay,”

K’eyush often though it funny that Admiral Morgenthau-Ebersbacher had such troubble with his name. It was not funny today.

“Contact them and inform them that we are en route. Issue a general emergency message and contact any Union vessel within range. I want a laser-message to the Homeworlds, and I want the hangar clear for any strike-size ships able to board. Prepare damage control teams to board any ships too large for the hangar for repairs.”

“Yes Admiral Morgenthau-Ebersbacher.” he responded (with perfect pronunciation) and hunkered down to compile and send the messages with record-breaking-speed.

Tears quietly trickled down his cheeks as he worked, splashing upon the glowing desktop.