FCN News Report, 2819.320
As reported by Karen Miles

The colonies of Leo Minor Sector have been in an uproar today after Leo Minor Federation Headquarters announced in a press conference held this morning that an unidentified force has completely decimated an entire quadrant of the sector.  The spokesman for Federation Intelligence Operations in Leo Minor, Lieutenant Commander Brennan Yune, gave the following statement: “All we can determine from our investigation is that the entity, which has yet to be identified, entered the Mithra System, destroyed the Federation HQ governing the entire Kruger Quadrant, and proceeded to systematically wipe all traces of civilization in all of the surrounding systems.  We have found evidence that high-powered communications interference and plasma-based weaponry were used in slaughtering the millions of Kruger Quadrant’s inhabitants. This is an enemy that can appear and disappear and is responsible for destroying an entire fleet’s worth of starships and supporting outposts. GFI has categorized this presence as an enemy to the Galactic Federation.”

Hours later, the Leo Minor Collective Governorship, sadly without any of its members from the Kruger Quadrant planet-states, held a meeting to address this announcement, where Chief of State Daryn Marlow commented, “The Lieutenant Commander would have the peoples of our sector believe by his ambiguity that some new and hostile race is responsible for these tragic attacks on our homes. He does this in the military’s interest of countering this threat by using broad powers of government that could impede on the rights of our people whom they wish to defend.  But the simplest and most recognizable answer is that the largest threat to our way of life and well-being is not some unstoppable and mysterious force, but the concerted actions of those rebelling against the freedoms which we and the rest of the Galactic Federation stand for.”

After Federation Intelligence’s announcement the Leo Minor Collective Governorship has placed all systems within its borders on ‘Code 3 Alert’, suspending all inter-system travel for the next 72 hours as the Federation Navy conducts their search throughout the quadrant in hope of identifying and stopping this hostile force.

The Planetship; Navigational Command
The Galactic Rim
The Isengard System, Williams Quadrant, Avalon Sector
NOV 16 2819/2819.320; 1205 Hours (GFST) 

The space surrounding Isengard Prime had before, as expected, been empty. It was the only planet in a distant out-of-the-way star system, catalogued and mapped nearly a century before by Confederation Exploratory Services, named by the first pilot to have entered the system by accidentally crossing forth through the jump point leading into it. Now, however, the desolate night which had always been given distant warmth by the reflected green hues of the forest planet was having its view harshly interrupted by the rivers of black tears circling, drifting around the sphere. When given more scrutiny, the black tears would have been realized as chunks and bits of charred metal that had once agonized in the fires of destruction. Soon, Isengard Prime would gain several new asteroid belts around itself, formed from the sad remains of the Federation’s entire Seventeenth Fleet and the quadrant’s superbase headquarters.   

Magistrate Archaeis was paid no attention whatsoever to the burnt remains of the Heathen plague that had previously and futilely attempted to hinder His plans for this system. The weak were of no interest to Him. He was focused on the strong, and the Steltek were now stronger than they had been in the last twenty years.  His ocular nerves connected with the stimuli receptors of His Throneship, allowing him full awareness of almost everything that took place within the entire star system.  In less than half of a second his attention was focused on the surface of the planet the Heathen’s had catalogued as Isengard Prime. 

Surprisingly, this planet had not needed to be cleansed of any Heathen filth. Its presence had merely been recorded in the Heathen’s databases and had never been truly explored. Such was the way with these barbarians; they only wished to claim their territory, never exploring it—just to have it, while the Steltek Magistry so long ago had appreciated every planet, every star, every nebula, and every other example celestial splendor within their territorial realm.  Still, that time was so long ago, but it would come again.  The Magistrate was seeing to that.   

Earlier, the Heathen fleet had drawn their line over Isengard, defending the planet and the system’s orbital defense outpost. What the vermin had mistaken for their own courage was, in fact, mere desperation before the will of the Steltek. Their line was broken; their desperation was answered with firm vindication and victory was grasped by the divine hand of His Magistry.    

Once the minor annoyance of the Heathen forces had been resolved, the Throneship had moved closer to the planet and released several thousand pathogenic capsules into its atmosphere. Unlike the capsules previously released in the Mithra System, these ones were bred to create, not to cleanse. The capsules had impacted into the fresh earth of the planet, releasing their spores which mingled and incubated with the planetary minerals. The spores grew, multiplied, and began taking form. What would become in months nearly a thousand Marauders were now pupating, maturing in soil and rock, taking in and using the necessary nutrients and minerals for their development. At the moment their hulls were moist and soft, but given time these shells would become nearly impenetrable.  They waited with purpose, anxious to become spaceborne for their Steltek masters.  

Two of the capsules that had rained down upon Isengard were different from the others. A steroid-like compound had been included in their spores, dramatically increasing the rate of metabolic growth and maturation. The use of this Marauder-producing technique was rare and painful for the Steltek to employ.  The incubating soil was sacrificed for this extremely quick maturation of the spores, ruining any life-sustaining properties thereafter.  

Such is the price of urgency, the Magistrate thought. He knew that the planet’s small sacrifice would not be in vain. He observed the two newborn Marauders as they escaped the planet’s atmosphere, awaiting the commands and occupancies of their Steltek fathers. The Throneship knew two of His most respected brethren were also watching the Marauders and eagerly awaiting His word.  

He felt the same eagerness. “Giraldus and Arcturus, my most trusted servants, I honor each of you by appointing you as Overseers of the first generation of our new fleet. From my most trusted ranks you may select your crews. They will serve you as loyally as they have served me. Much still lies before us on our path to vindication and I expect you two with your command ships shall pave that path with fire and Heathen remains. Serve the Purpose and in return it shall serve you.”  

Giraldus replied, his returning stimuli showing a bright countenance, “For the Purpose, our new hiveworld, and you, Your Magistry, vindication we will serve.  What is our next destination on our path?” 

Archaeis matched the countenance. “One of the Heathen peoples, the ‘Terrans’, have one particular wound we previously inflicted upon them, which has since that time scabbed over and scarred. To mark our return and our revenge, we shall pick and injure that same wound. 

“We are heading for their cradle.  The attack will commence shortly.”

GFS Maelstrom; Entrance to Flight Deck One
The Aldebran System, Potter Quadrant, Gemini Sector
1300 Hours (GFST) 

Christ, I’m just one jump away from being able to see my own father but instead I have to report in for my first day on the job, Shannon thought, sighing.  It had been no surprise to her when she realized during the shuttle trip from Vukar Tag that in the past year she had seen her father live on FCN more than live and in person. While both previously had spent most of their time with their minds on other things, him with political moves and machinations, and her with flight simulations and training examinations, she had always imagined that her father would at least attend her academy graduation, if not serve as a guest speaker.  Instead, the Chief of State from Vukar Tag’s collective governorship had given the commencement speech. Like he would know anything about being a pilot on the frontlines, she privately jeered. 

Shannon’s feelings aside, she knew that her father’s work was important not only to him, but to the entire Federation. She spoke with her mother much more frequently than with her father and from the subtle underlying tones in their conversations Shannon had been receiving the impression that the Galactic Federation was not working out as well as her father and the other conceptualists of the Federation had planned almost a quarter of a century ago. The major races still had trouble remaining united only to themselves and not to each other. Allocation and use of the Federation Fleet was in constant debate. The Great Assembly was slowly degrading into a conflagration of selfish senators with narrow-minded wants and wishes. In the name of peace very little was being done.   

But she trusted her father to keep things together in his arena. All Shannon knew she could do for the Federation was protect it from its enemies… Foreign and domestic, she reminded herself, remembering the rumors of rebellion that had been whispered amongst the graduating pilots.   

The whispering had ceased when the troop shuttle had come into visual range of the Maelstrom. The shuttle had quickly drifted into the spacious flight deck amidst a chaotic scramble of fighters and bombers rolling into launch berths with their mechanic teams rushing after them. The shuttle carrying Shannon and other officers, most of them Academy graduates like her, finally touched down amongst nine other identical troop shuttles that had come in earlier from star systems nearer to Aldebran. One minute after touchdown the shuttle had depressurized. From the underbelly of the boxy personnel carrier section of the ship a wide door released and, where its end met the deck, stairs were made.     

A whole cargo load of sixty Academy-fresh plebes marched down the stairs in near-perfect synchronization and then stood at perfect parade rest, waiting in formation for the Flight Deck doors to unlock and widen and introducing their CAG. The young flight officers patiently and attentively waited. With her band of fellow graduated officers, 2nd Lieutenant Blair felt proud as she and the other new soldiers of the glory known as the Federation Space Force stood ready for their first assignments.   

 “Pssst—hey there, bright eyes,” an Australian-accented voice interrupted from behind her. Shannon ignored him until the voice beckoned to her again, “Pssst!” 

“We’re at attention, pilot!” Shannon whispered back. 

“Whoa there, put a bit too much starch in your uniform, eh?” the voice bothered again. 

She whispered back, this time with a bit more force, “Pipe it, friend, or when the CAG gets here it’ll be both our heads!”  

“Oh, go root the CAG,” the voice came, not whispering at all, “I was wipin’ out furballs before both of his great grandparents were potty trained.”  

Shannon had seen her share of upstart pilots in training. Most of them never graduated, Jarek included, she thought. But she was not about to let this one think he would fare any better now that he unfortunately had his wings. She spun around ready to make sure this guy, whoever the hell he was, could at least guess what was coming to him.  

Instead, she ended up face-to-face with not a new Academy grad like herself, but a superior officer—a captain.  

“Uh, eh—sir!  I had no idea. I-I—“  

This thirty-something, ragged-haired flight officer smiled in return, “Hey there, no need to lose it; I’m new here, too... in more ways than you might think. Look, the name’s Ian. Ian St. John,” he extended his hand, “but your father calls me Hunter.”  

The young lieutenant was too confused to remember to take the handshake. “Hunter? Ian St. John from—” 

“Your dad and I were on the Claw together.” 

“—From the… the sacrifice at Hari. You did the DSSS recon on the Kilrathi during the False Peace… gave the Landreich and the Confees enough of a jump to save Earth from total annihilation. It’s written that you died… a hero,” she said, muddling through her confusion to put enough pieces together. “You’re supposed to be dead.” 

“’You’re supposed to be dead,’” he repeated, mocking her standard accent, “Crikey, I haven’t heard that line in the last four hours or so.”  

“How—why are you here?” Shannon wondered. 

 “The how is a longer story than the why, so we’ll save that one for later.  As to why I am here—your pappy gave me a special assignment.”

“My father put you here?  To do what?” 

“To keep an eye on you, mostly.”  

Shannon gritted her teeth. She didn’t need this. She didn’t need this Hunter. She was an adult, and it wasn’t her fault if her father wasn’t around enough to realize that. “Listen, sir, with all due respect, you’re going to grab the next transport out of here, get back to New Constantinople and you can tell—” 

“Atten-shun!”  

2nd Lieutenant Blair cursed herself—amidst this distraction otherwise known as Hunter she hadn’t noticed the doors to the Flight Deck open. She went from a restrained ferocity to perfect attention in half a second. Hunter fell into formation behind her almost as quickly.  

Now focused, she could see through the filed ranks an officer with dark skin, who was taller than average height and older, older than even Hunter appeared to be. His scalp was cleanly shorn and every movement he made appeared precise and purposeful. Even the plebes with training fresh in their minds had a somewhat undutiful appearance when compared with the demeanor of this career officer. 

And when he spoke, his voice was just as verbally resonant as his appearance was visually. He had the most precise diction Shannon had ever heard. “Welcome aboard the Maelstrom, pilots. I am Lieutenant Commander Hamad Wyson, assistant to the Commander-Air-Group,” he introduced himself, walking through the ranks and looking over each new crew member, mentally noting each of their young faces. “As all of you probably know already, the Maelstrom is not just another tin can that will be doing routine patrols, making the colonies feel safe. We are going to be on the frontlines, at the hotspots, the places where peace is only a memory.   

“For most of you, you were personally selected by the CAG to be part of his flight crew. He knows who you are, knows where you’ve been, and knows how well you did there. Both he and I have already placed our trust and confidence in you,” this time, standing right near 2nd Lieutenant Blair, he paused briefly, “and your dedication to the Federation’s will for peace.” 

Wyson retraced his steps back to the front of the formation. “The Maelstrom is preparing to shove off from Aldebran. Follow me; I will show all of you your accommodations.”

GFS Maelstrom; Pilots Barracks Three
1318 Hours (GFST) 

Okay, I was wrong... this ain’t anything like Star Trek, Hunter mused. He had marched through the corridors in line with his fellow pilots, taking in the atmosphere of his new assignment, his new home.  From his review of the general specifications, Hunter could clearly see the dichotomy between the Tiger’s Claw, his first assignment over a century before, and this ship.  Eighteen kilometers in length, holding about 700,000 crew, containing thirty-six full fighter squadrons, brandishing weaponry the Captain had never heard of, next to his recollections of the Claw—less than a kilometer in length, only 300 crew, only nine fighter squadrons, with a paltry defense grid of laser cannons. The newer Austin or Concordia he had served on even failed dismally to compare.

Even the overall dimensions of the Maelstrom’s flathead screwdriver-shaped hull were spacious, making the Claw seem like nothing but a flight deck with propulsion and crew sections attached on as afterthoughts. This Federation, in its “will for peace” had put together a starship, a fleet carrier amongst fleet carriers that functioned more as a mobile defense outpost than a fighter and communications support vessel. Ian wasn’t about to question his ACAG’s claim that the Maelstrom was a frontline ship.  

Soon enough, after traversing down through about twenty decks and as many lifts, the group rounded a corner, bringing themselves into a deck-long corridor with only six wide entrance doors, three on each side. Wyson went up to the first door and pressed a button next to it.  

The entrance opened accordingly, revealing a massive area that looked much like one of the flight decks. There were obvious differences though. Besides having no fighters around, there were instead meter-and-a-half-sized holes in the bulkheads, going two-and-a-half meters deep. Almost like a bee hive, Hunter thought. He saw three levels of them on each side, with two levels of catwalks on each side leading up to second and third levels.  

“At ease!” Lieutenant Commander Wyson barked. Hunter and the plebes broke from formation and relaxed, crowding around their ACAG. He spoke then in a more casual manner none of the new crew expected, “Your barracks are more-than-standard fare, so feel honored. Each barrack holds one wing, each level holding one squadron,” he said, walking over to one of the holes. He pressed a button on the side of the gap and a perfect well-made bed came rolling out. “Here’s your bed. If you’re lucky enough to have some time to rest, you lie down and push a button on the side,” he tapped a spot on the side of the metal slab supporting the mattress and it rolled back into its hole. Suddenly an encasement appeared from the rim of the hole, contracting shut.  “And then it’s nighty-night.  Inside the hole you’ve got a viewscreen toward the far end just above where your head should be. Catch some non-restricted FCN; view DCDs of porn, or home, whatever happens to fuel your shuttle. 

“Next to your bed-gap, you’ve got your storage drawers.” He pointed to the three rectangular outlines in the bulkhead wall below and to the right of the bed-gap. Hunter assumed they automatically slid out when tapped. “And that’s it,” Wyson concluded the brief tour, “By default, when the flyers are put on alert these holes open and spit out your beds if you are on them. A most effective wake-up call.” 

“Speaking of wake-up calls, Lieutenant Commander,” another voice echoed from the other end of the huge chamber, “the Captain has informed me that she expects all pilots to be combat-ready by the time we head out.” 

“Atten-shun! Commander-Air-Group on deck!” Wyson responded. Within five seconds the pilots were in formation.  This brought a slight smile to his lips, but only for a moment. His CAG’s news disturbed him. “Combat-ready in the next few hours, sir? We’ve got mostly nuggets here and—” 

Carrying a datapad, the Commander walked toward them confidently. He was a gaunt, pale man of average height with a balding head barely covered by the shiny slicked-back remains of black hair. “I know, Lieutenant Commander, and believe me I gave her everyone reason why I couldn’t guarantee that she’d get what she wanted.  But that’s the trouble with being in command, when it comes to your ship you always get what you want,” he said, giving a wry smile. “The same goes for my WCs and squadron commanders, so I want my wings as ready as they will ever be before we jump out of here.  I shouldn’t need to even ask you rookies, but will you be ready?” 

“Yessir!”     

“That’s what I like to hear. Since you’re all new here, let me introduce myself. I’m Patrick Shmidt. For starters my command style is what I call fair and direct.  The other details we can save for later, since we have very little time now.  After I call out your flight crew assignments, all squadrons from each wing will put in a two-hour BARCAP patrol for the next forty-eight hours.  That’ll give you grads a chance to familiarize yourselves with something other than a simulator.”  

CAG Shmidt proceeded then to announce his list of names assigned to each one of the six fighter wings. Hunter observed the CAG and the ACAG and liked what he had seen so far. The authority of the two complimented each other; the CAG seemed compassionate while his assistant appeared nothing less than hardcore. Shmidt’s demeanor was that he expected the job to get done, while Wyson’s attitude was that he would ensure the job was done. He remembered his comment about the CAG he told Blair’s daughter before and now he was convinced that it was misplaced.       

“Captain Ian St. John—Eight-Ten,” Shmidt announced, going on to recite other names assigned to the next wing, the 819th. A minute later he called out: “Lieutenant Shannon Blair—Eight-Nineteen.”  

Hunter knew he would have to speak up. Whether Blair’s daughter appreciated him or not, he owed it to the ole Maverick to keep an eye out for her. He raised his arm high and coughed abruptly—the most polite way he knew of to get his commander’s attention.  

“Lieutenant Herna—” Shmidt, hearing the disturbance among the quiet formation, caught his words. He squinted and, focusing his eyes across the barracks, noticed the only raised hand.  “Yes, pilot?  Is there a problem with your assignment?  Speak up.” 

St. John put aside all tendencies to be nervous in this sort of situation.  “Captain Ian St. John, sir—my apologies for the interruption—requesting permission to speak with you for a moment, in private?”  

The Commander and his assistant Wyson quickly gave each other lopsided frowns. “I suppose so... make it quick, though.” His gaze turned back to the rest of the flight officers. “Everyone else, if I’ve announced your assignment already, proceed to your wing’s barracks. Your squadron commander will meet up with you there.  For those left, hold attention.”  

While some of the new flight crew scrambled out of there, Hunter quickly approached his superiors Shmidt and Wyson. “What is it, Captain?” the CAG asked sternly. 

Hunter pulled out of his pant’s back pocket a small DCD and handed it to Commander Shmidt, “My assignment, sir. Suggested by Senator Blair—” 

Wyson interrupted, “—Senator Blair? Obviously in his old age he’s forgotten that his Space Force days are over. Did you fail to remind him that these days he works for a different branch of government...?” 

“And approved by the Fleet Admiral,” Hunter finished. 

“I... see,” Wyson replied, a bit sheepishly at that.    

Shmidt ignored his assistant and slipped the DCD into the input slot at the bottom of his datapad. Glancing over the text on his screen, he said, “Everything checks out.  I guess it never hurts to be an old crewmate of the Master of Great Assembly himself.”  He looked back up and starred directly at Hunter, “I can read between the lines, Captain. You may be here to keep a watch out for Blair’s daughter but when you play for my team you play as hard as the rest. You’re a pilot first, babysitter second. Understood?” 

Hunter nodded in agreement. “Aye, sir. No problem here.”  

Shmidt responded with a sincere half-smile, “It’s nice to see that a resurrected legend like you, Captain, still knows and respects the chain of command.  I’ll make a note that from here on out you and Lieutenant Blair are assigned to the 819th Wing.  Now get to your barracks and make sure to take advantage of your patrol time. When it comes to piloting one of our fighters, whatever you know right now is more than likely more than a century out of date.” 

“Aye, sir, as ordered.” Hunter started to make way out of the barracks. 

“Oh, and Captain...?”   

“Sir?” St. John turned around. 

“Give my regards to Senator Blair,” Shmidt said with a smile.

GFS Maelstrom; 819th Flight Wing Briefing Room
1600 Hours (GFST) 

“I still think you don’t need to be here.” 

The briefing hadn’t started yet. The squadrons, composed mostly of new pilots led by aces and veterans, were still waiting for Wing Commander Colonel Devries to show up. Hunter’s squadron commander had met with him earlier. At the last minute the CAG had stuck him in with the 701st Squadron, the Paladins, who piloted the F-240C Mace Interceptor. Hunter guessed his position was a mixed blessing. In most operations interceptors were the last to be called out, if they ever were. This would most likely take him out of the action in any fighter operations the CAG had in mind but also would give him enough time to get acquainted with handling one of these Twenty-Ninth Century death machines. He also speculated that the CAG trusted him with the role of defending the ship in the worst scenario: when the Maelstrom herself was in the greatest danger. I’ve been in that sort of bitch before, plenty of times, Hunter considered. He must’ve read up on my tour with the Claw. 

Coincidentally, the Paladins had collectively sat down right next to the Black Tears, the 819th’s spacefighter superiority squadron.  More coincidentally, Hunter found himself sitting right next to young Shannon, who had greeted him oh-so kindly.  

Ian welcomed her in return, “Sorry, sheila, I have my orders sent down from the Fleet Admiral—“ 

“And arranged through her by my father, I hear you,” Shannon finished. “Still, that doesn’t mean I have to fucking like it.” 

Captain St. John leaned over, whispering, “Hey, you think of it this way, darling... I know your dad isn’t around as much as you’d like him to be. He told me he misses you. He told me to tell you that. But me being here—he said it’s the next best thing. Him and I have a lot in common, you know. Besides being resurrected after a century or so, both of us have spent most of our lives fighting to make yesterday into today. I see we’ve done our jobs, more or less.  I died once before doing mine. And for your—our Federation—I’ll die once more whether I’m resurrected again or not. It doesn’t matter. 

“I came back for a reason. I’m sure of that, and your dad with his bloomin’ Pilgrim senses of his probably can feel that more than I can.  That’s why he put me here, I suppose. He senses that this ship is going into something deep, the eye of a storm that’s brewin’ right now.  That means you are going into somethin’ deep too. He wishes he could be right here with you but he’s caught up keepin’ the Great Assembly from tearin’ itself apart.  So he’s got the next best guy here: his old wingmate; in a sense, his brother,” he put a hand on Shannon’s shoulder, “Your Uncle Ian.” 

He could see now his words had struck home with Blair’s daughter. Her eyes glistened with would-be tears that quickly subsided under military discipline. “You’re right, you’re right. I’m sorry… sir,” her voice was still a little choked up. 

Ian gave her shoulder a comforting squeeze, “Aww, you can quit that ‘sir’ crap. Call me Ian. My family does… er, I wager they did before they fell with Earth,” he mentioned with a twinge of sorrow. “I guess that would make you and your father the closest things I’ve got to a family now... you know?”  

She looked at him, regarding the old war horse with a warm smile. “Well, Ian, you can call me Shannon... but you better believe once we hit space the callsign is ‘Maverick.’” 

“‘Maverick’?”  Hunter laughed, “The kangaroo doesn’t fall far from the pouch, now does it?” 

Shannon let out a smile just as everyone else in the briefing room started to quiet down. Their Wing Commander had just entered and taken her place at the podium at the central front of the room. Even military discipline could not hide her worried countenance. Devries’ dark hair was unkempt and messy and it was clear to almost every pilot in the room that she had not received a good amount of sleep in the last couple of days. As she started the briefing concerned whispers could still be heard.  She ignored them.  

“I welcome all of you who are new here, nearly half of you. It’s no secret that the timing of your assignment here was vital to Federation Fleet and Space Force operations both planned and underway. As our CAG has informed us the Maelstrom will be leaving port soon, sometime within the next twelve hours.  Half of you, the 367th, the 396th, and the 593rd, will be prepped and ready for launch when we coaxially jump.” 

As soon as she mentioned that an even greater amount of whispering arose. Most of the pilots wondered what the degree was of the circumstances necessary for the Maelstrom to perform such a rare operation. Hunter had no idea what all the quiet commotion was about.    

“I can’t even tell you all yet where we’ll be heading. As far as the CAG knows the Captain still hasn’t received our next coordinates from Sector HQ. But she gave me an idea what we’ll be up against. 

“In the past week several systems have been completely decimated. Wiped out and wiped clean of anything resembling civilization. Kruger Quadrant in Leo Minor—gone. The Seventeenth Fleet defending Avalon—totally erased. The latest report is Federation HQ has lost contact with the Second Fleet in the Sol System. Already, the estimated death toll adds up at well over twenty million lives. 

“The Media, who the Federation has left uninformed, points the finger at an insurgent movement lurking in the ranks of our military. While this movement does indeed exist, it is hardly responsible for the attacks. An investigation conducted by Intelligence Operations concludes that the most likely culprit must be the Steltek.” 

The room now filled with the concerned shouts of incredulity and terror amongst the pilots, especially the younger ones. Now the wing commander shouted for quiet but this time her orders were not heard. Some of the squadron commanders stood up and demanded that their pilots quiet down.   

“I knew it!”  Shannon exclaimed.     

Hunter overheard her, “Knew what? What’s all this shoutin’ about? Why’s everyone crappin’ their flightsuits over these Steltek like they’re fuckin’ spreading herpes?” 

Shannon looked down a minute, getting control of herself. Then she stared directly into her Uncle Ian’s eyes. “I hate to be the one to tell you this. It wasn’t the Kilrathi that took down Terra, Uncle Ian.  Much worse—it was these guys, the Steltek.” 

Ian tried to answer her… but this time he choked up.

The Sol System, Terra Quadrant, Sol Sector
1324 Hours (GFST) 

“Seraphim Four, take my wing…” 

“There are too many, damn it! Too many—[static]” 

“This is Zephyr to all squadrons: fall into V-formation on my point…” 

“Mayday! This is the carrier Zodiac to all ships in-sector: please assist; I repeat…”    

The voices cried out. They were not even heard. The communications blanket made sure of that. No one, except Fate itself, could save them. 

The aging Vesuvius-class carrier, the Zodiac, now considered a lowly “jeep carrier” compared to the heavy fleet carriers built in this day and age, took up the fight.  No one had expected the Zodiac to fall into the role of leading the remnants of the Second Fleet in defense against the Steltek. However, when the Steltek’s first kill in this battle had been the fleet’s flagship, the omnicarrier Thor’s Hammer, all expectations for how this battle would go had been figuratively thrown out the airlock.   

Before that, most of the Second Fleet had already gathered in the system when Federation HQ had contacted Sol HQ on Mars and informed them about the Steltek’s return. The Second Fleet had stood ready—a first for the Federation’s military since the Steltek’s return—but things went from worse to even worse when the Throneship had jumped into the system as expected but unexpectedly flanked by two Marauders.  The three ships had S-Folded in at the edge of the system and headed at full burn straight for the Terran Asteroid Belt, the sad remnants of Earth, one of their previous victims. 

The Hammer fell first. Then the megacarriers met oblivion. Following them into fire were the heavy cruisers that sported weaponry that had the smallest chance of damaging the Steltek ships. This time the Steltek were not arrogant in their vindication.  Their targets were systematic.  This time the Purpose would be fulfilled.  

Now all that was left was the Zodiac in the lead of a few light cruisers and destroyers, a handful of ships in all.  Past Neptune, Uranus, Saturn, Jupiter and even Mars they raced after the three enemy ships that had torn right through their line without slowing down or taking any noticeable damage.  The raining waves of Steltek Drones that had kept the Federation’s spacefighters occupied had moved back toward their motherships and took up a close BARCAP stance.  Holding up the V-shaped phalanx in front of the Zodiac were the thousands of remaining Federation spacefighters, every one of them piloted by men and women fueled by desperation.

The Throneship and her two escorts progressed quickly to the edge asteroid belt.  But just as surely as it had moved through the Second Fleet it now, with what seemed like poise, came to a dead stop.  In a rush the Drones retreated to their motherships.    

With a graceful determination the Throneship spun forward on its axis, facing its ventral surface near the sun of the Sol System. The three green crystalline pyramids on its ventral side began to angrily glow.    

The anger was apparent not only to the Federation soldiers, but the Steltek themselves. For the Steltek, this time it was much more than vindication. This time the staggering thirst for revenge would be also be answered. The star systems cleansed before were only instances of target practice compared to the onslaught at hand.   

Singular throbbing beams of green plasma burst from each pyramid and fixed in on a common point between the three sources, equidistant from all of them.  From there a focal point was made and the three tempestuous energies of the separate beams gathered, twisted and mutated together, intensifying into the raging energy of one thick white-hot beam. The white-hot beam throbbed even more violently than the energies that had sired it… as it headed straight into the fiery depths of the system’s sun.  

After a second the beam ceased, and it took the Sun another second to answer to the Steltek’s desired effects. Beneath her corona the seas of fire and gas violently turned from a bright yellow into a dim red. Seconds after that the corona was permeated and overtaken as the seas poured forth and outward in every direction.  The Sun was expanding, and quickly. 

This mattered not to the Steltek ships. Each of them quickly S-folded out after the Throneship had completed its most important goal. Now the Sun was dying.   

As the Second Fleet look on, in awe at the oncoming tidal wave of fire and gas, they failed to realize that they would soon join it.    

Only Fate could save them now. Instead, it had other plans.

GFS Maelstrom; Air Group Rec Room
The Aldebran System, Potter Quadrant, Gemini Sector
2206 Hours (GFST) 

It was late and Shannon’s first day at work was coming to an end. Already she felt she had a good place here. She was honored that the CAG had put her in with the Black Tears. While she was the lowest-ranking—not to mention the youngest and most inexperienced—member of the 819th SFS Squadron, she had assumed that the CAG had in mind to groom her early on to be an ace like— 

Like her father… who was sitting at the table in the middle of the Rec Room.  

As she entered she saw that the entire place was empty except for him who sat at a middle table. A few fighters sped past the viewport wall on the opposite side of the door Shannon had just strolled through.  

“Dad? What are you doing here?” 

He looked over at her whimsically, “Now Pilot is that anyway to address your CIC?”  

She stared at him with a puzzled look and he simply gave her a cold stare. For a moment, anyway—then stares broke down into wide and bright smiles.  

“Dad! I missed you!” Shannon yelled as she ran over and gave her father a huge hug.

As he held her daughter, the older Blair sighed, “Well, it was your mother’s idea that I could try to make up missing your graduation a little by being here for your first tour of duty.” They unlocked from their embrace and automatically Shannon’s hand slipped into her father’s. It felt good to hold her hand, reminding him of the times when he had done so had during her childhood.  

As he guided her over to the viewport, she spoke, “What are you talking about, Dad? You can’t be here—what about the Great Assembly?” 

“As soon as this trouble started, I had all the senators return to their planets in the interest of security. They may suspect but aren’t sure that the Steltek have returned. If they knew for sure I don’t know what would happen—they may declare this spear-rattling on the part of the Military, showing that the Federation is only a shell of its designed purpose; like we need another war to keep everyone in the galaxy from killing each other,” Blair smirked at his own ironic statement, “New Constantinople has been evacuated—I didn’t want to give the Steltek another target.” 

“Target? You mean their attacks aren’t random?” 

Blair let out a short but racking cough, and then answered, “They wanted us to think so in the beginning, to keep us scared… but after losing contact with Sector Avalon all ships we’ve sent in haven’t come back. Intelligence thinks they’ve set up a base of operations, so only God knows what is happening there. From their pattern of attacks after that, it seems that the Steltek are trying to make us gather each sector fleet together to fight them, who they subsequently destroy, making our entire navy diminish overall.” 

“So that we can’t consolidate anything bigger than what they think could give them a problem.” 

 “You got it. That was their first phase… their next one is to get what they’ve always wanted: vindication. Payback. We just lost contact with Sol, and we think they are heading for Kilrah next. But we’ll be there this time, and ready. The Maelstrom is heading there to assume command of the Special Operations fleet that’s already gathered.” 

A moment later, a voice came on over the PA, “Bridge to all stations. All fighters return to base. All hands, prepare for Coaxial Jump.” 

Shannon shuddered, “A Coaxial Jump? I’ve heard those hurt.” 

“Oh, they’re nothing, really. You feel the same old jumpshock afterwards—just ten times worse,” her father said with a smile. 

“I’m afraid, Dad.”  

“Coaxial Jump in T-minus ten, nine, eight…”

“I’m here, baby. Nothing’ll happen to you,” he said, placing a hand on her shoulder and giving it a firm squeeze.  

“… Five, four, three, two—” 

Threshold.

The Enigma System, Isaac Quadrant, Enigma Sector
2215 Hours (GFST) 

And with one final swipe of plasma, the last remaining Federation fighter went down with a whimper that was unheard in the silence of space. 

“Another Heathen nest cleansed, Your Magistry.” 

Archaeis let his pride consume him once again. The Federation had become weaker than usual, he surmised, and they had offered no substantial resistance. He considered this to be a sign of true divinity; the universe itself sought a cure to the Heathen plague.  

Arcturus was also consumed by something, but in his case it was eagerness. “Our next target?” 

The Magistrate smiled, seething, “The Terra System was the first. Soon, Kilrah will join it. Proceed.”