UE-Voinian War: Prelude

Hyperspace. It meant space, stars, worlds, and a future. Called the greatest scientist in history times beyond count, Karon Manning was eclipsed only by his son in glory. He was exiled from Luna in 2038 for the dangerous nature of his, “foolhardy,” experiments. With meager funding from several corporations and a small loan, generous considering the amount of support he got elsewhere, he moved his laboratory to Mars. Surprisingly, several closed system life support techniques used by him, his family, and loyal assistants where integrated into the ships he made possible. For twelve years he worked in his small domed, self-sustained lab with little reward until an accident left him minus one hand, one leg, and with a workable hyperspace theory. His concluded that gravity had caused the accident and asked his sponsors for an asteroid laboratory, they denied him that but did fork a few more credits. In a year he built a craft he was certain would operate hyperspacially. Unknown to anyone but the Mars base, he took it out to space. His family had pleaded with him for months not to go alone or at all, but being sixty-five years old, he felt it was the triumph of his life and he wouldn’t get another chance. The craft ripped apart and exploded almost a second after activation of the hyperdrive. The authorities questioned the laboratory about the strange nature of the explosion and the absence of Karon Mannering. They responded that Karon had passed away and they knew nothing of the explosion. Fortunately, the authorities suspected them but considered the lab harmless and an investigation too expensive. The staff and family mourned Karon’s passing but continued work on the hyperdrive. After three years and some refinements to the Hyperspace Theory, another vessel was ready for a test. Done as close to the original test spot as possible, so Karon could watch, Emil activated the hyperdrive. The ship appeared 96 kilometers forward of the activation point, almost a half a second later. It worked. In his historic words, Emil Mannering said, “this is for you dad.” The difficulties did not end, the sponsors now wanting the design in return for any more money. The laboratory, considering the drive incomplete, refused. Deeply in debt, with no money coming in, and governments threatening to shut them down, a miracle was needed. In one last-ditch attempt to save the laboratory, the ship was expanded and Emil and two others undertook a voyage to Alpha Centauri. The ship was criscened the H.S.S Karon Mannering. The hyperdrive was activated at 1200 May 28, 2044. At 1458, July 24 of the same year the returning ship was detected by radar. They carried back samples from a possibly habitable planet, numerous radar images of the system, and 163 hours of visual footage. Their discovery was announced to the solar system and widely accepted. Some still had doubts but they were smashed by a second voyage in which several well-known dignitaries participated. A faster and improved hyperdrive was released to all humanity on November 11, 2047, the six-year anniversary of Karon’s death.

First Contact

Emil Mannering’s ship was far too small for routine interstellar voyages, having almost no cargo space. Many elaborate ship designs where immediately proposed, but drawing something and manufacturing one were two different matters. A shipyard was quickly formed by several wealthy individuals on Luna and began mass-producing a simplistic, straightforward design. It was the first ship to trawl the spacelanes, carry colonists to distant planets, and giving its makers a monopoly on ship construction for two decades. It was known simply as the freighter and was made by the thousands in almost as many different models. Unfortunately its cost was high and the monopoly stifled trade and colonization. Eventually, as hyperdrives became more efficient and materials cheaper, several other shipyards began producing smaller craft and the monopoly was cracked. Trade and colonization skyrocketed; justifying the period of 2072-2148 being named the Expansion Age. One the most influential craft of this era was frequently called the cargo transporter. The freighter lived on with smaller fuel tanks made possible by better drives and became the main transporter of colonists to the stars.

Captain Plac Johnson ordered Flaps, his helmsman, to take the ship out of the atmosphere. It was a shining new cargo transporter. He knew the designation and serial like he knew his mother’s name. He saw the colony of New Paris recede into the background. Beautiful on its large island containing only three hundred thousand people. And he was contacted to search nearby systems for mineral deposits by the corporation recently formed there. If this went well he would be first in line for equipment and personnel transport and deliver runs. He could see himself as eventual director of off-world operations. He’d been lucky, the future looked so good. The stars came into view. Space had a certain untamed aspect out here in Bakka, away from crowded Earth space and the endless practice hours. Stupid regulation, he knew what he was doing two hours after his first launch. He thought of Helezeen, how she gawked at his ship, and smiled at him. They had sat beside his ship, talking for hours under the night sky. How badly she had wanted to come. Rafraz, his hyperspacial drive operations officer, commonly called hyp-op, interrupted his thoughts. “Calculations complete captain, activate drive?” “Ah, yes,” Plac responded. His crew was good, just as fresh from training as he; they already felt like a team. “Activationnnn now, ” said Rafraz. The “now,” was garbled. Everything blurred and dissolved then undissolved into regular space, and another system.
“Dogonover,” he mused, what a senseless name. There were rumors that someone sat at a computer that spat out random letter sequences and named systems after them. Flaps looked at his sensors, “just a few asteroids, I-wait, there’s something man-made here. It’s regular, but rather odd looking, ‘bout the size of a station.” Plac said, “I didn’t think there were any operations out here.” “I didn’t either,” Flaps said, “um, there are some ships flying around it, but they’re the weirdest thing I ever-.” Flaps looked at Plac, wide-eyed. They both looked at Thomas, the Comm officer. “Oh, nothing yet,” he said, “you want me to hail.” Plac said, “I, guess so,” straightening his uniform. “Alright,” said Thomas, “I’ll send them the-wait, they’re hailing!” The bridge screen displayed a heavy-set, pale blue-ish gray, humanoid face. “-osh’bluth glomonth vel tulmon.” It paused and looked at them. “Flecth joth vib noloth.” Plac looked around and opened his mouth but closed it again. He started again, “um, do you have a translator or something.” The humanoid began to look angry as if its patience was exhausted. “Gulon bel wineth,” it said and signed off. “Several ships heading toward us, captain,” said Flaps, “and they don’t look friendly.” “What they look like doesn’t matter much,” said Plac, “damnit, I wish one of those experts where here, they talk about logic and language congruities. Calculate hyperspace route to Bakka.” “Already on it,” said Rafraz. Plac ordered, “hail those fighters.” He suddenly realized what his subconscious had known all along, and the others realized it too. These were ships of war. “They’re attacking!” shouted Flaps, as an explosive projectile impacted on their meager asteroid shield and rocked the ship. Purple blasts followed. “Enter hyperspace,” shouted Plac. “I’m trying,” said Rafraz desperately as he wrestled with the ship as it was pummeled. “No response from Hartin,” said Thomas, referring to the ship’s engineer. His station was near the aft engines. “Have you sent a distress signal?” asked Plac, above the noise. “****,” Thomas punched a button on his console several times and began typing wildly. By some superhuman effort Rafraz oriented the ship on its path toward Bakka. “I got it,” he said, as he punched the activation button. The crew sighed from relief, but nothing happened. “Drive’s out,” said Rafraz, terrified. “Escape pods,” yelled Plac. They launched out of their seats toward their respective pods. Plac saw a huge hole in the wall and the white haze of frozen air. He thought, Helezeen, seeing her beautiful face for a fraction of a second. He was just another piece of space junk.

Alien Response

The Bakka Metal and Mineral Corporation was the first to follow up on the distress signal from the S.S. Lost Cause. A scout was sent to the Dogonover system and broadcasted all sensor readings until it was also destroyed attempting to escape. BMMC filed a report to the Interstellar Council on Earth, which also sent a scout. It barely escaped. A moratorium was placed by the Interstellar Council on all flights past inhabited system on the western side of human territory. A makeshift navy was formed from corporate mercenaries and privateers equipped with anti-asteroid lasers. It was comprised of 22 freighters, transports, and shuttles deployed along the western border. A request for funding, weapons, and ships was made by the Interstellar Council, but was greeted with half-hearted enthusiasm by the human planets.

Newly commissioned Captain Arnold Nalem scanned his bridge. His scarred freight transporter was considered one of the best in the fleet, H.N.S. Saber. That was why it patrolled the system Bakka, considered the most threatened inhabited system in human space. It had a few modifications to put it ahead of the rest but he knew it was the crew and captain that made it the weapon it was. He looked at his bridge crew, he never would have dreamed of joining the Navy if they hadn’t promised to let him keep his crew. Ah yes, he reminisced on his life before his joined the Navy. His “salvaging” of ships that might or might not have been disabled had earned him a reputation. Then a shady character had promised a high price for the cargo of a deuterium liner. Nalem knew not to trust such people but he had a little blackmail of his own planned at the rendezvous. Unfortunately the location given by the agent had been correct a week before, he just caught the liner as it was entering it destination, Iothe. He hadn’t thought Iothe prime had a police force, but the ships appeared before he was finished with the freighter. Surrounded, he had no choice but to admit the boarding party, 20 trigger-happy marines that had no respect for his expensive equipment. His ship was hauled all the way to Earth and he was prosecuted before the Interstellar Council. Fortunately for him, he hadn’t destroyed the freighter or any crew, but the intent was clear. He swore the second he saw that shady character he would stick a laser pistol in his ribs and demand what the hell he pulled. He was certain the Iothe police were legitimate but not necessarily their motives. In a closed-door talk with the judge, Nalem had been given a choice. His ship stripped from him and sold to compensate the freighter crew and owner and five years in the Ariane mines, or join the newly forming Human Navy. The answer was obvious. He pulled himself back into reality and scanned the sensors, nothing. “Hail the Killjoy and ask when the patrol gets over,” he ordered his Comm officer. He said, “but it ends-.” “Just hail him,” interrupted Nalem. “Alright.” After a few seconds an image of a captain of the same patrol appeared on the bridge viewscreen. “What the hell’s this?” it asked. Nalem shouted, “hah! I thought you weren’t wearing your pressure suit.” “What,” the captain said, “oh.” It was regulation for all crew to wear pressure suits in case the bridge was punctured during a battle, but the helmet could be left off until the ship entered combat. The captain squinted, “Arnold, is that you?” he asked. “Sure is,” Nalem responded. “Didn’t expect to see you here, Ross.” “Me neither,” Ross said, “’scuse me while I put on my pressure suit.” Nalem laughed. “Sir, Naval Comm channels are not for personal use.” Nalem glared down at the executive officer “provided” by the Interstellar Council. “Sorry Ross, my uh, political officer here says this is against regulation,” said Nalem. “Yeah, mine’s look’n pretty white,” responded Ross. “Bye Arnold, see you when we land,” said Ross. “Yeah,” said Nalem, he nodded to his Comm officer and the image disappeared. Oh, when does this patrol get over, thought Nalem. The pay wasn’t too bad but it was hideously monotonous. He was thinking about the Saalian brandy shipment he heard arrived just before his patrol went out and prayed it wouldn’t be gone by the time he landed.
“Ships going through hyperspace,” said the helmsman. Nalem turned to look at him. “Foreign signatures,” the man said quietly. “I guess this means helmets on,” Nalem said, directing a piercing glance at the executive officer. “Tell Ross what we have,” he added. After locking his helmet the Comm officer typed on his console. “They are definitely from Dogonover system,” said the helmsman, “and will enter real space in about ten seconds.” “Gunner, ready?” asked Nalem. “Sure,” said the man in the ball laser turret, mounted on top of the central ‘tube.’ There was a white flash and distortion in the sky and 7 gray, triangular, ships sporting a red triangle in the top front area and spiked apparatus on the port and starboard sides entered the system. The fighters flew directly at Nalem’s ship. “Opening fire,” said Gunner. Greenish bolts flashed toward the ships and hit shields, making almost no impression. “Opening fire,” reported the helmsman, more green blasts licked out at the ships from the asteroid laser lashed to the underbelly. “Concentrate all fire on the lead fighter,” ordered Nalem. The fighter continued unshaken, suddenly purple blasts came from the spikes. “We’ve sustained damage,” cried the helmsman, “shields are down.” “Gunner,” called Nalem, “Gunner.” “Turret’s out,” said a husky voice over the ship radio, “heavy damage aft in the central section, they’re shooting for the engi-ahhhh.” Static filled the bridge. The crew looked at each other, eyes wide with fear. Pirating civilian craft was easy and relatively safe. They would die here. Another voice came over the radio, Ross, “I’m coming Arnold, hold on.” Nalem stuttered, “n-no Ross, don’t.” Something was launched from the lead fighter. They could see it from the smoke trail. It slammed into the ship with terrifying force, sending it tumbling through space. Nalem and several others were not secured in their seats. “Ugh, -get-, ahhh, -pods-,” he cried as he tumbled around the bridge. Lights flickered and went out, it sounded as it everything was falling apart. “Escape pods!” Nalem managed to yell before a beam yielded to stress and popped out from the wall, impaling him. The secured crew sat frozen in fear. Survivalist instincts finally drove the exec to rip off his harness and dive for a pod, but the spinning ship tossed him across the bridge where he smashed into the helmsman’s console with a bone-crushing thud. The fighters came around for another pass, the lead fighter fired another explosive projectile and the ship blew apart.
The other ships in the patrol were in a panic, some tried to land, others hypered out of the system. Ross just stared at his screen, Arnold was dead, any ships that remained in the system would meet the same fate, the enemy was invincible, the panic was contagious. “Set course for Alpha Centauri,” he shouted. The fighters broke up, trying to destroy as many as possible. One headed for Ross’s ship. “Hurry,” he shouted to the hyp-op. “I’m trying,” he cried desperately, calculating and maneuvering at the same time. A projectile through the ship off. “Damn,” the hyp-op said quietly, too scared to curse loudly. “Jump anywhere,” shouted Ross. “But-,” the hyp-op objected. “Do it!” screamed Ross. The hyp-op hit the activate button and typed in the manual override code. There was a deafening sound of metal colliding with metal and shrapnel erupted from the starboard wall. When everything undissolved, a huge metal cone appeared, protruding from the wall, tip painted red. They stared at it in frightened silence. “Th-their gone,” said the hyp-op, there was no response. They noticed the blood on the wall. The Comm officer’s body lay in various pieces around his chair and the bridge. His suit had been punctured. The bridge was also punctured, releasing their air to space, and the officer’s body water had boiled, exploding him. “Can you get us to Alpha Centauri?” asked Ross after several minutes. “I, I think so,” said the hyp-op. “Alright,” said Ross. The hyp-op bent over his console and began pressing buttons slowly.
Helezeen was taking the hover taxi home from her job when she heard the announcement on the Audio Entertainment Network. “Alien ships are attacking the system. Repeat, a-,” he was silent for a moment as if just realizing what he was reading. “-Alien ships are attacking the system. The Human Navy ships are defeated and are fleeing. Evacuate immediately, evacuate immediately.” It didn’t say where to evacuate to, but everyone knew what it meant. Leave the system. “Hey, can you stay at my house while I pack and take me to the space port?” she asked the driver. “I gotta get myself out,” he responded, “you’ll have to get there by yourself.” He dropped her off and she hurried into her apartment. She ran through it, shoving items into the colony pack her mother had given her. She stopped, looking at her boyfriend’s hologram. “Oh, Plac, why did you have to die?” She resumed packing with tears blurring her vision. Something caused her to tune into the AEN left playing. “Aliens are strafing the colony. Repeat, they’re strafing us. And, I’m, getting out of here.” Nothing replaced the silence of the announcer’s absence. Helezeen grabbed her colony pack and ran to the lift, she crammed into it with 15 other people and their belongings. They burst from it at the bottom floor and ran outside. Some tried to call a hover taxi with their hand computers but none came. Helezeen starting walking toward the spaceport, fortunately it was only 5 miles away, almost 100 for some unlucky souls. She tried to flag down hovercars but none would stop. Someone shouted something and everyone started running, she joined the running mob. A weird whuring sound increased in volume until it was deafening. She could just barely hear strange beeping sounds and the cries of death that resulted. She ran faster. Some dove off of the street to avoid the spray of death but most were blinded by fear and all they could think to do was run. The strange beeping became louder; she could feel the air vibrate as the shots impacted. Everything seemed to disappear but the street her feet kept hitting. Then she heard a roar and she was thrown into the air. She saw a foreboding gray triangle in the sky and felt murderous pain, then it all stopped.

Several weeks later a detachment of alien marines finished the job.