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Avalon part one: Veni, Vidi, Vici
Posted By: Triad<m.eelkema@student.tudelft.nl>
Date: 27 July 2005, 1:17 pm
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Avalon
Part one: Veni, Vidi, Vinci
Chapter one: The briefing
0900 hours, July 18 2502 (military calendar), Amsterdam station, Reach orbit
Commander Steven Fisher was on his way to the briefing room, walking with a somewhat nervous pace. He somehow felt it in his bones this briefing would hold in it the promotion he had worked and hoped for, for as long as he could remember. But unlike most of his buddies of his class at the academy, he had never gotten an opportunity to make a lasting impression on the brass.
Steven, thirty five years of age, didn't care too much for medals or fame. All he ever wanted, was to be the captain of a battleship, or maybe some day even the admiral at the head of a battle group. Having his own ship as a commander had been a major step forward, but doing search-and-rescue on a small frigate just didn't cut it. Nevertheless he liked his crew and loved his ship.
After showing his credentials to one of the three guards at the entry and an extensive retinal scan he entered the small briefing room at five to nine, but to his surprise the room was already filled. The walls of the room were bare grey aluminium, and Steven could smell the new midnight-blue carpet on the floor. In the middle of the room was a circular conference table with a holographic projector in the centre. He didn't recognise any of the five people sitting at the table except for Admiral Pasanedes, his superior at FLEETCOM, who was sitting in the middle.
"Thank you for joining, Commander Fisher, take a seat," the Admiral began cordially. "Let me first introduce you to the others present. These two civilian gentlemen are doctor Robert McLees and his assistant, doctor Ike Maynard. Doctor McLees is the navy's lead ship designer. These two officers are Captain Jones and Rear-Admiral Baker. Both of them are with the Office of Naval Intelligence."
As soon as the Admiral had said that the officers were with ONI, Steven realised why he had been approached so secretive for this mission and why there were guards at the entrance; covert ops. It also explained why the carpet had been renewed: The ONI-personnel were known to tear up entire rooms to make sure there were no bugs to be found.
The Admiral continued: "Now we have all been properly introduced, I would like to give the word to Captain Jones."
"Thanks, Admiral, and welcome, Commander." The Captain stood up with a file in his hands. "Before we continue, let me first point out that everything said in this room is considered top secret by the ONI. I think we all know the implications of talking about this to people without the proper clearance." The Captain, who had a friendly voice, turned to Steven: "Commander Fisher, we have selected you on the basis of your excellent record as a Commander in charge of search-and-rescue-missions, and that is also the kind of mission were are sending you on."
Steven was immediately confused. "Excuse me, Captain," he interrupted, "but why this fuss over a simple search-and-rescue-mission? I thought the ONI didn't occupy itself with that kind of operations." He knew it wasn't smart to interrupt ONI-officers, but if they were going to send him on a mission, he wanted to be informed as well as possible. In spite of this, he tried to sound as humbly as possible.
The Captain replied as friendly as before: "This is not so simple, Commander. The ship we are sending you out to find, is the cruiser known as the Halcyon." The moment the Captain said the name, the holo-projector switched on to show a spinning three-dimensional image of the ship. Steven lifted his eyebrows in surprise.
"As I can see by your facial expression, you are familiar with the name."
Rear-Admiral Baker hunched forward from his chair: "What, exactly, do you know about the Halcyon, Commander?" he asked, looking at Steven with prying eyes.
"Well, sir, probably as much as anyone serving in the navy; just that the Halcyon is supposed to be the prototype for an entirely new cruiser-class, with the fastest translight-engine yet, and also the biggest ship-mounted MAC-gun ever installed." Steven swivelled uncomfortably on his chair. "I actually saw it depart from the shipyard over Mars. In my opinion a very impressive ship, Admiral." The two doctors nodded and smiled as he described and applauded their vessel.
"We expected as much, and it is indeed impressive," the Rear-Admiral replied. "But let's get on with the briefing. Captain, if you please..." The Rear-Admiral leaned back into his seat.
"Yes, sir. Well, the Halcyon is commanded by someone you might know; Captain Marcus deVries." Jones looked into the file he was holding. "He was in your class at the academy, if I'm informed correctly."
Steven nodded. He and Marcus had become good friends at boot camp, and they had both served in the battles at Eridanus six years ago, Steve as a Lieutenant on a cruiser, Marcus as the Commander of a frigate.
The Captain continued: "After its departure from Mars the Halcyon set sail for its space trials. To ensure that these trials are conducted in absolute secrecy without any unwanted guests, the trial ground has to be very out of the way of anything. Therefore the trial ground for the Halcyon was located just beyond Delta Cygni, a very quiet part of space." The projector now switched to a star-map marked with the trial ground. "Captain deVries was ordered to maintain strict communication silence for the duration of the trials. The expected date for his return was over two months ago, but we haven't heard a single thing."
"Could he have gotten behind in schedule so that he is just delayed?" Steven asked.
"That's unlikely. We give Captains a lot of extra time for the trials of new ship designs. Besides, the only two excuses for Captain deVries to break silence are distress signals or notifications of delays. We have received neither."
"So, what happened, sir, if I may ask?"
"We simply do not know. But to our knowledge there are two alternatives: Either the ship has been damaged somehow in a way that it's impossible to return or to communicate, or the ship has been captured by an unknown faction; maybe rebels, maybe pirates."
Admiral Pasanedes took the word: "This is where you come in, Commander. We want you to take your frigate, jump to the trial ground, investigate it, and ascertain what happened to the Halcyon and her crew."
Steven was surprised again: "Excuse me once more, Admiral, but may I ask why you are sending only one frigate? Why not a destroyer or a battle group?"
The Admiral wanted to answer, but the Rear-Admiral gave him a signal that he wanted to do it instead, so the Admiral backed down. Steven found it typical how ONI-ranks were not ordinary navy-ranks: The Rear-Admiral apparently outranked the Admiral.
"This possible mishap could be a bit, ehhh, embarrassing for the navy." Baker was fumbling nervously with his fingers. "As you might have noticed, we've given this new ship a lot of publicity as a ship that would make most other ships obsolete. We certainly do not need any bad publicity at this moment, certainly not now there are rumours of remnants of the rebels massing in the Eridanus system again." The Rear-Admiral looked almost a bit ashamed as he said this. Understandable when you've lost an eighty billion dollar cruiser like a bunch of car keys. "That's why we want to keep this mission as low-key as possible. We are confident you have enough experience to handle this mission with distinction as well as discretion. Besides, as we have seen before, the thing holding up the Halcyon will probably be a faltering reactor or central computer, nothing serious. That part of space was chosen for its apparent lack of rebels or pirates," the Rear-Admiral assured him.
"I see," Steven replied blankly. His enthusiasm for the mission was dwindling. He believed the Rear-Admiral when he said this mission was probably a milk run without many possibilities to really make a difference. Also, because it was a secret mission, he would not be allowed to put it on his Career Service Vitae, nor would he probably get any reward, except for the possibility of more secret missions. That may have sounded exciting to some people, but Steven had never seen any Captain make a career out of black operations. They either never returned, or they ended up as the Rear-Admiral or the Captain at ONI, a position he certainly did not aspire to.
Admiral Pasanedes noticed the troubled look on Steven's face, and tried to boost his hampered zeal: "I also see you have some reservations against this kind of mission, Commander. But let me assure you, this will be your first and final mission for ONI, and also your last mission as a Commander, if you're catching my drift."
Steven lifted his chin. "Thank you, Admiral. That surely is one hell of an incentive. But even without it I would still gladly take on this mission." Like I have a choice, he thought. He knew a colleague who once had the balls to decline a mission brought down by ONI. He was now commanding freighters filled with biological waste between outer colonies. Talk about incentive...
But still, the outlook on a guaranteed promotion was more than enough to renew his enthusiasm.
"Good," the Rear-Admiral answered with a confident smile. "We knew you would. Now, you should begin preparing your ship and crew, Commander. We want you to leave within two days. Before you depart, Captain Jones will give you all the relevant data on the Halcyon, her crew and her possible location." The Rear-Admiral already began to organise the papers and files lying in front of him. "And oh yes, you should also get further acquainted with doctor Maynard, because he will be joining you on this mission."
Steven pressed his lips into a straight line. Great, he thought, my ship is becoming a tour-bus. If there was anything he disliked more than his lack of promotion, it would be civilians on his ship, especially deadweight professors like Maynard. But again, he didn't have much of a choice.
"I know, Commander, how much navy-Captains dislike civilians onboard their ships, but doctor Maynard has been closely involved in designing the Halcyon, and can give crucial on-site information about the ship's systems."
"I understand, sir. Doctor Maynard, I shall inform my boatswain. When you report to my ship, he will fit you with your own quarters onboard the Flying Dutchman. One advice; don't pack too much, my frigate is pretty cramped."
Admiral Pasanedes concluded the briefing: "Right, that settles it. Commander, I want to stress the covert nature of this mission to you one more time. You are not allowed to expose the objective of this mission to anyone until your ship is well underway. If that is clear, I am adjourning this briefing. Dismissed, everyone."
"Yes, sir."
Everyone packed their papers and went their separate ways. Steven went straight to the dock where his ship, the Flying Dutchman, was docked for supplies and some small maintenance. He had a job to do.
Chapter two: The departure
0200 hours, July 20 2502 (military calendar), frigate The Flying Dutchman, Reach orbit
"I can't believe this!" Ensign McBain sighed. "I was about to score me some poontang, and then the Commander has the nerve to call back the entire crew from a leave after six months in space. What a rip-off!"
"Stow it, Ensign. We all know the pope has more luck with women than you have. Now you better tend to your station before the Commander gets here."
Lieutenant-Commander Smith hadn't even finished her sentence, as Steven floated onto the bridge followed by doctor Maynard.
"Don't worry, Ensign McBain, you will be back at nót impressing the ladies in no time," Steven said in a cheerful tone.
"Thank you, sir," Ensign McBain answered as cheerfully as his Commander.
"Alright. Doctor Ike Maynard, may I introduce you to Lieutenant-Commander Christine Smith, my executive officer."
While the doctor and the XO shook hands, Steven noticed once more how regal Christine looked in her grey uniform. Most female officers he knew looked like male drag queens, who somehow passed the physical at the recruiting office. But Christine, with her red hair, which she wore in a pony-tail, managed to look stately and butch without loosing any of her femininity.
"Good. Doctor, I trust you'll get acquainted with the rest of my crew on your own in the course of this mission. If you'll excuse me, I have a ship to fly now."
The Flying Dutchman had been in the dock for five days before Steven got his new mission. He and his crew had just come back from a six month mission in the Gemini system. Not that they had done much: The mission consisted of patrolling and being stand-by for ships in need of assistance (other Captains jokingly called this sort of mission 'triple-A-service'.) Although ships in the Gemini system were prone to suffer from damage or pirates, the Flying Dutchman hadn't received a single call for help, and the mission had gone on as routinely as possible.
In the time between receiving his new orders and departure, all Steven and his crew had done was taking on food, fuel and some other supplies. Nothing else was needed: The ship had received large maintenance before the last mission, and the weapons arsenal was still fully loaded. Most of the time was spent waiting for all the crewmembers and marines to return from leave.
Now, everyone and everything needed was onboard, the ship's systems were fired up and ready to go, and the hatches were sealed. Although it was a coincidence that they were ready at two a.m., Captain Jones had actually advised to depart at night, to attract as little attention as possible. Time to set off, Steven thought.
"Prepare the ship to cast off, everyone." He seated himself on the Commander's chair, strapped himself in, so that he wouldn't float away in zero-g, and inspected his bridge. He had always revelled in the way his bridge looked. The location of the workstations and the commander's chair were fixed and standard: Steven's seat was situated in the middle of the bridge. There were two stations with two officers each to either side of him, and another two in front of him, including the helmsman, Lieutenant Alvin Trucker. The XO was seated next to Alvin.
The rest of the bridge (the light-intensity, the colour of the walls, etcetera) was customised to Steven's liking (or 'pimped' as Ensign Wesley White called it,) including the best piece of hardware on his bridge; his chair. When he got his command over the ship, the ergonomic service of the navy made a mould of his back and rear. From this mould they made a seat, which sitting on to was like the feeling of a lay-z-boy multiplied by a thousand.
Lieutenant-Commander Smith approached him and asked: "Commander, may we now finally know what the hell this is all about? Not that we don't like getting pulled of a well deserved leave, but a reason is always welcome, sir."
"I'm sorry, Smith, all I can say here is that the objective of our mission is only told on a need-to-know-basis, and unfortunately you don't need to know right now." His answer sounded almost like an apology. "But be patient, I will tell the entire crew what our mission contains as soon as we've left Reach orbit. So let's get to it. At your stations, everyone. We are casting off. Pellerin, put my music on."
Everyone not yet sitting at his or her station did so, and checked, whether they were ready. Meanwhile Pellerin, the ship's AI, put on the 'Bolero' by Maurice Ravel, a fifteen minute long classical piece performed by the New Mombassan Philharmonic.
Steven checked his display in front of his chair, and turned to Lieutenant Trucker: "Alright, my screen is showing green across the board. Mister Trucker, take her out of the dock."
"Aye, Commander."
Trucker pushed the switch, that severed the connection between the ship and the umbilical, and used the navigation thrusters to guide the ship out of the dock. Once the Flying Dutchman had cleared Amsterdam station, Trucker engaged the main engines, and steered into a vector that lead them out of Reach orbit.
This was one of the moments Steven liked the most when flying a ship; the feeling of the main engines kicking in, seeing the planet placidly sliding by. He had seen a video once of his ship departing, and it had given him chills of pleasure down his spine how gracefully his ship glided through space. This feeling was now further amplified by the music: He loved the way in which Ravel's 'Bolero' swelled in intensity, and in turn his heart swelled with joy. He took a deep breath through his nose, and he could smell the cleaner in the air. It made him realise how good his crew was: The workstations, the seats and everything else on his bridge was cleaned between getting his orders and departure; something he hadn't given an order for.
"Mister Trucker, set in a new course. The vector is two five eight point nine, declination zero six point seven. Pellerin, mister McBain; you two get ready to initiate the jump to these coordinates near Delta Cygni. Engage the translight-drive on my command."
"Aye, sir," both officers and the AI answered almost simultaneously.
Steven transferred the coordinates near Delta Cygni from his data-pad to Pellerin. "Time to address the crew." From the controls on his chair, Steven opened an intercom channel to the entire ship. "Attention. This is the Commander speaking. First, I must apologise for recalling all of you who were on leave. Secondly, I must notice, that outward communication from this ship with anyone is from now on restricted. Now, on to our mission. We have been asked to go on a search-and-rescue-mission in the Cygnus sector to look for a specific ship. Many of you might have heard of this ship. It is called the Halcyon." Many faces on the bridge turned momentarily to look at him in disbelief. "She is supposedly on her space trials, but hasn't been heard from for some time now. It's our mission to find out what's keeping her busy. I'm confident it'll be nothing serious, and that we'll be home again in no time. That is all. Fisher out."
After switching of the intercom, he turned his head to his right. "Mister McBain, what's your status?"
"Ready to rock and roll, sir," Ensign McBain answered, frivolously as always.
"Initiate the jump."
In front of the ship a shimmering rift started to appear. As the bow of the frigate touched it, the rift opened further, creating a blue haze along the hull. As the Flying Dutchman moved in, Steven and his crew on the bridge saw the surrounding space be distorted and then fade away into the nothingness of slipspace. The stern of the ship entered the rupture at the same time Ravel's 'Bolero' drew to its masterful end. After the entire ship had passed through, the rift collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but a fleeting ripple.
Chapter three: The trial ground
2300 hours, September 17 2502 (military calendar), frigate The Flying Dutchman, Delta Cygni system
Steven sighed. "Pellerin, report."
The ship's AI appeared on a small holographic terminal. For some incomprehensible reason this AI had chosen the appearance of a male centaur. "The long-range scanning grid can't pick up anything remotely looking like the trail of a cruiser. And certainly not the signature provided by ONI, commander."
"Damn." Steven pounded the arm of his seat with his fist. "Anything else worth noting?"
"Negative, sir. Only a couple of faint particle trails, but they are probably left by large comets. For the rest it's like we've seen for days; just a whole lot of nothing."
Steven frowned in disappointment. For three weeks had they patrolled the sector looking for a ship, which should have been as easy to find as a whale in a swimming pool. They had quickly set up a scanning grid, using short slipspace-jumps to strategically deploy small scanning probes, which communicated with the Flying Dutchman through slipspace.
While setting up the grid they had also scanned each planet, each asteroid belt, each floating scrap of metal meticulously, but none could give any clue into where the Halcyon was, nor what happened to her.
The morale amongst the crew was at an all-time low, and even the Commander was getting more and more frustrated. He was starting to worry he had to report to his superiors at FLEETCOM and ONI that their ship had simply vanished.
While he was still pondering where Captain deVries could possibly be, the nightshift under command of Lieutenant-Commander Smith entered the bridge.
"Reporting for duty, Commander," she tried to say with eagerness, but Steven could hear she was loosing hope of ever finding this wretched ship, just like everyone else.
"Nice to hear some gusto on this bridge, miss Smith. But there isn't much going on to further spur your enthusiasm. We're flying past an asteroid field, on which Pellerin is performing a scanning analysis. It should take him the rest of the shift to complete. If that's clear, I'll retire to my quarters."
Once in his quarters he changed into his pyjamas and read some out of his favourite book: 'The complete hitchhikers guide to the galaxy' by Douglas Adams. Steven found it fascinating how people had once fantasized about the future he was now living in. But above all, the book was funny as hell.
Just as he switched of his reading light, he felt the ship bank sharply, immediately followed by Smith's voice on the intercom: "Commander Fisher, we are being engaged by a ship, which doesn't identify itself." Her voice was agitated, but controlled.
"Go to combat-alert Alfa. Command everyone to report to their battle stations. I'll be on the bridge in a minute."
Steven was up and dressed in a matter of seconds, and ran all the way to the part of the ship, where the spinning section ended, and the zero-g-part began. From there he flew like an arrow all the way to the bridge. "Smith, give me a sit-rap," he ordered as soon as he entered and strapped himself down to his chair.
"Sir, a Phoenix-class vessel appeared from behind one of the bigger asteroids and fired a wave of Horsefly missiles at us. I've commanded Lieutenant Trucker to make evasive manoeuvres, and we've managed to evade most of the rockets."
"Most of them? Do we have damage?" Steven asked worriedly.
"Some minor impacts on our port flank, which caused minor damage to decks four and five, but no systems were damaged. Mister Trucker is now trying to get the Dutchman behind them, sir."
"Commander, the ship is coming into view right now," yelled Lieutenant Jackson, the head of fire-control. Passing their front window was a ship as big as theirs, with a huge Jolly Roger covering its entire hull. Against the blackness of space it looked as if there was nothing but a floating skull and bones.
"A pirate! Here?" Smith noted surprised. "I've never seen a pirate with such a big vessel. But what is it doing here?"
Steven was asking himself the same thing. "Beats the hell out of me, but..." Before he could finish his sentence, he saw the pirate fire another wave of Horsefly-missiles at his ship. "Mister Trucker, take evasive manoeuvres! Use a Saunders-loop to lose those missiles, and get the nose back on that ship."
"Roger, Commander," Trucker confirmed, and immediately turned the ship into a steep downward loop. Steven knew the strength of Horsefly missiles didn't come from their agility or explosive power, but from their sheer number: The pirate had fired close to a thousand missiles at his ship, but most of the missiles flew right passed him, not to turn around again. A couple of missiles impacted on their upper armour near the stern.
"Sir, we've got a small hull breach on deck one, section nine!" Smith reported with strained voice.
"Close off the section, and send a repair crew," Steven ordered as he saw the pirate slide back into view.
Lieutenant Jackson turned towards the Commander: "Sir, I've got a firing solution from Pellerin. We've got two Barracuda missiles locked on their engine exhausts. They're ready to fire on your command."
"Fire!"
Two Barracuda-class heavy pursuit missiles were launched from the starboard missile-bay, and sped their way towards the attacking vessel. The pirate immediately tried to outrun and outturn the missiles. It succeeded in losing one missile, but not the second. It hit the ship in the rear, thoroughly decommissioning its starboard engine. The entire bridge on the Flying Dutchman cheered, including the Commander: "Nice shot, mister Jackson! Aim another Barracuda to take out its remaining engine, and lock on some Starfire rockets to disable their missile-pods."
"Sir, they are firing at us!" the XO yelled. Steven looked up at the ship and saw a trail of something which could only be a Harpoon rocket aimed directly at the Dutchman's bridge, clearly a shot fired out of the pirate's desperation to get the Dutchman of his back. Steven's concentration in these situations rivalled that of chess grand-masters, and he didn't hesitate a second: "Hard to port, Trucker! Flank speed ahead!"
With some skilled manoeuvring Lieutenant Trucker avoided impact by mere meters, but everyone knew the Harpoon would immediately turn around for a second try. Everyone knew their only chance lay in getting the rocket to home in on them from the rear, which was exactly what Lieutenant Trucker managed to accomplish with combined use of the emergency thrusters and some extra power on the main engines at the appropriate moment. The bridge was starting to smell of sweat.
"Sir, the rocket is coming in from behind us," the XO rejoiced.
"Excellent! Deploy an anti-rocket-mine."
As the Flying Dutchman sped away, it released a mine directly in the path of the trailing rocket. When the mine was closest to the Harpoon, it detonated into a fierce red fireball, taking the rocket with it. The shockwave from the explosion bounced of the Dutchman's hull, which sounded like someone threw a rock against it. The whole bridge sighed with relief while the helmsman turned the bow back into the direction of the pirate. Steven's eyes tightened slightly, when their quarry returned into sight.
"Great! Mister Jackson, what's the status of our missiles?"
"Ready to be fired, Commander."
"Fire!"
Although the pirate was crippled, it still managed to evade the Barracuda by knocking the entire ship out of the missile's path using emergency thrusters. It then destroyed the Barracuda by firing another wave of Horseflies at it. The pirate couldn't outturn the smaller but more precise Starfire rockets, which were designed to take out single pinpointed systems. They did just that, when they impacted on the ship's missile-pods.
Steven cursed at the destroyed Barracuda: "Damn it! Bastards, I'll gíve you something to evade! Jackson, warm up the Judge!"
"With pleasure, sir."
'The Judge' was the nickname of the ship's MAC-gun, because its judgement was both swift and ruthless, and its gavel gave one hell of a bang. Moments passed while the MAC capacitors charged, moments in which the pirate tried desperately to get out of the Dutchman's kill-zone, but Lieutenant Trucker wouldn't let him.
"The Judge is armed and ready for sentencing, sir!" Lieutenant Jackson shouted.
Steven grinned: "Target their remaining engine. Adjust bearing and fire!"
"Sayonara, suckers!" Jackson yelled as he pushed the button.
The MAC round blew a smouldering hole the size of a house in the pirate's port engine, completely annihilating any means of propulsion it had left. Again, the whole bridge cheered. Ensign McBain and Lieutenant Jackson gave each other a high-five.
Smith reported smiling: "They are dead in the water, Commander. Their weapons are disabled. Apart from their engine compartments their hull is intact."
"Thanks, miss Smith. Great job, people. We'll leave what's left of them for the marines to clean up." Time for Major Morris and his men to suit up, Steven thought.
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