Beyond Mars Crimson Fleet Page 6

  "THE DECOYS, THEY'RE…." Ann started to speak, but was harshly interrupted by her superior.

  "SHOOT THEM DOWN! SHOOT THEM DOWN! SHOOT EVERYTHING DOWN!" Captain Ortega screamed in an absolute panic.

  Although the Louyang's remaining weapons began frantically firing at both decoys and missiles alike, the big ship was overwhelmed by sheer weight of numbers. Decoys collided and missiles exploded with the Earth cruiser until it wavered and fell from the sky as a burning twisted hulk. In a trail of dense smoke and fragmented debris, the Louyang slammed hard into an outer section of the base it had tried to protect. The end of the ship came in a monumental explosion that sent dirt, debris, and part of the base skyward.

  * * * * *

  Aboard the Mariner, the entire bridge crew stood silently in suspense. Thoughts of failure and feelings of anxiety occupied each crewmember as time dragged by. Even Paladin felt a little anxious as he quickly glanced at his chronometer. He wasn't sure if Wakinyan had ever reached the base, let alone destroyed it. Paladin allotted only a few minutes more of idleness before he himself would order an attack on the base by the fleet.

  Suddenly, the communication's crewman placed a hand up to her headset, and all turned to gaze at the woman, hearts pounding with anticipation. The woman listened carefully as a grin slowly broke out on her face.

  "SIR, INCOMING MESSAGE FROM THE CRAZY HORSE!" the woman blurted out excitedly. "THEY'VE DONE IT!" the she bellowed in exhilaration. "THEY'VE DONE IT! THEY TOOK OUT THE BASE!"

  A mighty cheer rose from the bridge alone with the sound of tremendous hand clapping.

  "COMMUNICATIONS! TELL MR. DAMON TO LIFT HIS SHIPS OFF NOW!" Paladin quickly ordered.

  "AYE, SIR!" the woman happily obeyed.

  "What a relief," Captain Winslow admitted.

  Paladin did not, however, share his subordinate's joy of the moment. Instead, he frowned slightly. "We still have a long way to go, Mr. Winslow. We still have a ways to go."

  * * * * *

  A troubled Richard Wakinyan looked out from a porthole on his bridge, a captive to his own thoughts. He saw the distant, bright fireball that announced the Earth cruiser's demise. Although he should have been elated over the victory, he wasn't. Instead, the Martian captain felt very somber and drained inside along with something else: tremendous guilt. He had just killed—or perhaps even murdered people who he never knew.

  The guilt was not just an outpouring from the present battle, but rather a complex intertwining of terrible memories from his past that sometimes haunted Wakinyan in quiet moments. Friends, loved ones, and unknown faces; all were lost in a morbid parade and spectacle of violent death. In his mind, he saw the face of each spirit twisted in the agony of despair, and possibly never knowing peace. For this reason alone, he hated war and its senseless carnage, blaming both God and himself for it. It was, however, a part of his profession, a profession he willingly chose even though it was more or less dictated by the circumstances of his life. But he wished it was otherwise.

  Richard cognized, perhaps he wasn’t the only one who felt this way. For the first time in memory, the Martian fleet had gone to great efforts to avoid a fight. All the Martians wanted was their freedom—not Armageddon. Yet, dead and wounded now littered Mars and its surrounding space. Commander Paladin had tried to avert this by giving a five-minute warning of their intentions, but it was not to be. The Earthers refused to step back and let them pass. It left no other option.

  Wakinyan watched dejected as the fireball finally flickered out. “Forgive me!” he whispered softly in veritable repentance for all the lives he took that didn’t deserve his wrath. But he knew that collateral damage was always the tragic—regrettable—and unavoidable part of war.

  As the Crazy Horse touched the boundaries of space, he let out a small tired sigh. He then pushed the guilt and memories out of his mind once again, and focused on his next mission's objective.

  * * * * *

  Chapter 4: Too Damn Pretty

  As the battle around the fourth planet wound down, a huge white fleet of ships sat idle in the space between Earth and Mars. They were ultra-modern, symmetrically designed, and yet, totally eccentric in appearance.

  Each ship was wrought as an elongated cylinder that narrowed at both ends, but widen vastly towards the center. On the topside was a deep oval well where a blended superstructure of rounded, but irregular shaped blocks rose modestly away from the hull. However, the bottom side was fashioned into a huge, flattened hexagon, which was evidently a bay for cargo or perhaps smaller spacecraft. On the topsides of each ship, portions of two large vertical discs were mounted for hyperspace travel, scanning, and defensive fields. Ultra-modern metals had been combined with resin, and plastics to give each ship a distinctive look of translucent glass as well as improved strength and other technological breakthroughs.

  For normal propulsion, two rotatable engine pods were mounted mid-ship on both port and starboard sides of every hull. They were inlaid as jutting dual thrusters, but gave the illusion that they were inefficient and unwieldy. Stranger still, conspicuously absent was any form of weaponry from their sleek and seamless skins. This was in essence a stealth mode, however, in which they might be mistaken for unarmed transports or freighters.

  In reality to this deception, these were the Earth’s most advanced warships, which were far different from the older vessels with keels and hulls of welded braced metal. Their conception was the result of newer technologies specified in their design requirements to counter a number of growing alien civilizations with equal or superior battle fleets.

  These ships were constructed of two-way shape memory alloys and materials, in which all atoms shifted at the same time to form new stable crystal structures when energized. This not only altered the physical footprint of the ships, but created added functions by forming new equipment. The yield strength of these compositions were much higher than steel, giving the ships of this Earth fleet a unique advantage along with battlefield dominance.

  In particular to this, was the huge space dreadnought positioned at the head of the fleet. Its size dwarfed even the biggest of the Martian cruisers and boasted the name of the present Earth's council director—Quinton.

  The ESS Quinton was the flagship of this—the Crimson Fleet. Reputed as one of the most aggressive, destructive, and brutal of the modern Earth military forces, the Crimson Fleet was also counted among the very best.

  The crews of this fleet were also strangely unique: the majority of which were not human. Humans accounted for less than one sixth of each ship's compliment at best, and slowly they were being replaced. Machines or their variant hybrids dominated the crews. Their strength, endurance, and efficiency were considered more valuable than human inventiveness, bravery, and compassion. This was especially mirrored in a microcosmic melodrama that now played itself out aboard the Quinton.

  * * * * *

  Only bands of upward moving rings of pulsed bluish-white energy illuminated the dark judicial chamber. The bands of electromagnetic conductivity were used to restrain a kneeling woman prisoner between two metal plates in the middle of the room. Their fluctuations of motion were accented by a constant hum and occasional miniature lightning strikes of static electricity that stung at the brunette's body. The woman jerked and cried out from the pain cause by each random sting, while her thoughts were choked by the despair of her uncertain fate.

  Crewman Laura Jillian sobbed quietly as she awaited the verdict of her court martial. She did not understand how or why this nightmare had happened. The woman's mind replayed her cycling of a bank of power relays during the normal 100-hour maintenance procedures. Every Step was meticulously followed and electronically checked off on an intuitive log. However, without warning one of relays was stuck closed, causing a huge unexpected surge of current. This overloaded the equipment, which blew apart and caused an internal fire in the main engine room.

  Although, her actions were
recorded on video, the recording somehow mysteriously vanished along with the electronic log, evaporating her defense. The recording and log’s disappearance was seen as a cover up to an act of sabotage, as accused by a cyborg shortly after the incident. He had been remotely monitoring the operation on the bridge. Added to this notion of treason were several previously made statements by Laura taken out of context. It was though someone had deliberately set her up for a court martial that was unwinnable. Laura’s spirit sank lower in the depths of depression with this thought as the waiting continued.

  Suddenly, the room's hatchway opened and light temporary flooded the chamber. Laura saw only the silhouette of a tall, lean female who stepped into the room with two massive bodyguards. The door then sealed itself again. Laura heard the woman's footsteps march to the judge's bench in front of her as small reflections of light betrayed the tall woman's path. For the moment, there was only silence.

  A dim green light then “clicked” on from the judge's bench and illuminated only the mouth and jaw of the female figure in a soft afterglow. The lips and jaw were held tight in a pursed and stern reproach, unnerving the prisoner even more. Jillian's heart palpitated as she awaited the verdict.

  "Crewman 2nd Class Laura Jillian, it is the decision of this court that you have been found guilty of the crime of sabotage against the Earth, her government, and her people. Do you have anything to say before I pass judgment?" the voice of Admiral Selena Darius echoed in monotone.

  Laura looked up as part of her mind disbelieved Darius’ verdict. A sickening wave of terror, however, twisted her stomach to nausea as she strained to see the shadowy figure. "I didn't do anything! I didn't do anything wrong!" she pleaded while tears began to stream down her face.

  "This court does not believe you!" the admiral's tone changed to one of intolerance. "You are hereby sentenced to death! Sentence is to be carried out immediately! Take her away!"

  Laura's mind was frozen in astonishment as the bands dropped into the floor plate and vanished while a small overhead light illuminated. Her eyes became glassy as she looked out to nowhere. The woman's breathing then became more rapid as the blood drained out of her face and her skin became clammy; reality was setting in.

  She remained kneeling and motionless as two cyborg guards stepped from out of the darkness. Each grabbed an arm and pulled the stunned girl to her feet. As Laura was made to stand up, she began to fight her guards wildly, but to no avail. As she kicked and strained to be free, her aggressors merely tightened their grip and pulled her off her feet. They then began to drag the sobbing woman from the room as their heavy footsteps echoed in the chamber that was eclipsed by shadows.

  "NO! NO! PLEASE, NO!" her cries for mercy filled the room and corridor as they departed. "HELP ME! OH GOD! PLEASE HELP ME!" Laura screamed, fought, and begged. But eventually, her cries fell into faintness as the trio exited down the corridor. Finally, the hatchway closed and all was silent.

  For a moment, the shadowy figure of Selena Darius showed no emotion. Then slowly, a smile formed on her face and grew broader. She, herself, then departed in the darkness with a detectable liveliness added to her gait.

  On the bridge of the Quinton, a middle-aged officer in the khaki naval uniform of the Earth space forces paced the deck slowly, but deliberately. Regardless that he was very well built and muscular, his black hair was slowly graying. His chiseled and expressionless features spoke of many years of active service, while his eyes scanned the sunken deck with a careful, steady gaze. Although his face betrayed no emotion, his soul was filled with utter turmoil and pity.

  In all his years of service in the military, he never saw a sight like this, human beings—or rather just their headswere physically merged with machines. The process, he thought, must have been unimaginably painful.

  Each head, before it was severed from its living body, was supposedly “wiped clean” of its former personality through the use of chemicals and electric shock. Once the head was removed, it was then mounted like a captured fly in a web of thin hoses, wires, and fiber optic cables. Finally encased in an orb of glass with a built-in holographic screen, the heads were isolated from any contamination from the outside environment. They then took their places in rows that formed a huge bank, filling up an entire wall of the bridge.

  They were considered an essential part of the newly design Earth battleships and used for controlling all manners of functions. This included a new and superior battle matrix system. With them, scientists and engineers had effectively combined human reason and intuition with machine accuracy and efficiency—and all at the speed of thought. These were the huma-droids, otherwise known as “HD's”.

  The “HD’s” were a recent development of Earth technology and newly passed laws. Legally adjudicated as “a resource for the common-good” by a corrupt and politically motivated Supreme Court, they were made up of men and women condemned for any serious crime on Earth, sentenced to become—this.

  As the officer continued to stroll around the deck, he wondered how many of them actually committed any crimes. Commander Vincent Trager paused by one in particular. Her grayish-white face revealed that she was once beautiful and in the spring of her life when she was taken to this fate.

  Trager froze momentarily and wanted to touch in sympathy the glass that covered her face. However, he knew that this was unwise act, and so decided against it. Seeing her reminded him of his last planetary leave of no more than four months ago. There he met a young waitress at a restaurant in the wee hours of the morning. Business was slow and the night’s air cold. Yet, it was a good time for chance encounter.

  Trager smiled for a moment and thought back to the deep conversation they had: of life as college coed and a soldier, their troubles, and their dreams. He wished himself younger that night as the possibility of a romance beckoned. But the cold reality of being so much older and a military man bound to his duty stood in the way. So they parted with a tender farewell, him to his new ship: the ESS Quinton.

  Although life aboard the Quinton was a little unusual, Trager quickly settled into it. Three months later into his posting aboard his new ship, the first of the HD's arrived and were installed. With little thought, he paid these “condemned criminals” no mind. But then on one of his daily tours on the bridge, this one caught his eye. He paused to carefully study the woman's face in detail. Finally after a few unsure moments, he found himself recoiling in utter horror, for he recognized the face as being that of Julie Morris: waitress, coed, idealist—and now huma-droid.

  The eyes that were once filled with the joy of life now glared unblinkingly at a pseudo, holographic viewer that was a part of her case. A mind that once hoped and dreamed now only calculated and analyzed. And every time he looked upon her, his stomach grew queasy while his eyes soften with the moisture of compassion. He hoped and prayed that her family thought her dead.

  As Commander Trager continued his routine inspection of this “ship of the damned” he was assigned to, a cyborg walked past him. Trager's eyes locked on and followed the hybrid to its duty station. He restrained the emotions of the man within him once more. However, his pity for Julie abruptly turned to total hatred and revulsion for the “thing” that had just walked past him.

  Trager regarded cyborgs as nothing more than traitors to the human race. They consciously forsook humanity for a machine's life, and power over what was once their own kind. To the officer, they were embodiment of a computer-dominated world, and the impersonality and cruelty that it brought.

  Taking a deep breath, Trager turned away completely agitated and feeling the need for diversion. He marched to the controls of the main viewer and powered it on. He hoped to focus his mind on one of the few things that gave him solace: the eternity of space.

  The air crackled for a moment with static electricity, and then a patch of stars, dust, gases, and void appeared before him in a swatch of tapestry. Trager took another deep breat
h and began to relax.

  Suddenly, an electronic voice imbedded into a wall panel near the hatchway began to broadcast in naval protocol, "ATTENTION! ADMIRAL ON DECK!"

  With those words, the rounded hatchway parted open. Trager looked up as he stood at attention, his stomach tightening with more tension. Within a moment, the figure of Admiral Selena Darius stepped onto the bridge with her two android bodyguards.

  Selena’s body was clad in a black shinny leather-like material that covered most of her machine parts well and gave her the guise of an athletic woman. A taught black hood covered her head and accented her grayish-white facial features, which Trager guessed to be Mediterranean. However, the hood ended in a large rounded bun at the rear of her head. This portion was an advanced computer that was merged with her brain and designed specifically to interface electronically to the Quinton’s battle matrix system.

  More machine than human, Trager regarded her from the very beginning as extremely dangerous. Selena was highly intelligent, absolutely ruthless, and exceedingly ambitious. Although she was a veteran of many battles and a competent leader, her direct political connections were partially responsible for her command of the Crimson Fleet. But her reputation of needlessly sacrificing crews and ships for vainglory and lust of destruction was the paramount reason of her appointment. The Earth government demanded a heartless taskmaster in charge of their most powerful armada for enforcing their policies and advancing their agenda. And Selena was the perfect marriage of human vanity and vindictiveness to a machine's apathetic logic, which was needed to impose The Order’s will upon the galaxy. In Trager’s eyes, however, she was the absolute symbol of pure evil.

  As Admiral Darius seated herself in her command chair, she wave to her subordinates to return to their duties. Trager broke out of his stance and moved to her side.