The Humanosphere
SECTOR
LIGHT YEARS FROM SOL
True Core
0—50
Inner Core
0—100
Outer Core
100—200
Inner Mantle
200—300
Outer Mantle
300—400
Inner Verge
400—500
Outer Verge
500—600
Inner Fringe
600—700
Mid Fringe
700—800
Outer Fringe
800—900
Inner Rim
900—1,000
Mid Rim
1,000—1,100
Outer Rim
1,100—1,200
Inner Frontier
1,200—1,300
Mid Frontier
1,300—1,400
Outer Frontier
1,400—1,500
Unknown Regions
1,500+
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> Graecia was the start of everything. If I had never gone there, if I had never followed my desires as single-mindedly as I had, would things have been different? I look out at the burning Humanosphere, and I question the wisdom in all that transpired to place me there. Which tragedies might have been averted? What lives might have been saved? Blood drenches me like a second skin, and I wonder… How did it come to this?
The fast-packet merchant ship Enterprising Fortune dropped out of warped space with a flash of cherenkov radiation and a small eruption of displaced space. The moment it did, the eclectic bridge crew of the vessel—arrayed as they were in a small horseshoe depression in front of the elevated captain’s chair—called out their reports with due diligence.
The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
“Translation completed, skipper!” a young man called out cheerfully. “We’ve arrived at Graecia’s Solward Calypso point.”
“Fuel levels are good, too!” called out a young woman on the opposite side of the horseshoe. “The hyperlane from Korinth was pretty stable, actually. The A-Drive barely had to put in any work maintaining the warp bubble.”
“Good to hear,” Captain Davos Larriman, a heavy-set man with slavic features and an impressive black beard, responded with a nod of thanks. “Let’s get moving toward the checkpoint before the locals get antsy.”
The casual “aye aye” from the helmsman at the ‘front’ of the horseshoe—the exact middle of the curve—keyed in the rest of the crew to glance up at the projected ‘viewscreen’ superimposed in a full 360° across the walls of the small interstellar courier’s shielded bridge. Thanks to the technological advancements of the 31st Century, as reckoned by the central Solar Calendar of Terra, the ‘view’ of the outside was linked to multiple tachyon sensors that rendered a lagless three-dimensional image of space as it existed outside of the vessel.
In simple terms, it was akin to being aboard an old-Terran wet navy ship’s bridge, and looking out from within. The difference, of course, was the ability to zoom in up to the light-second mark—exactly 299,792 kilometers—on anything rendered by the sensors. Details beyond that were supposedly unavailable, largely because of how the sensors collated and arrayed the data for the display and the nature of preserving a lagless process.
The science of it was far beyond the foundational education most humans received outside of very specialized Universities—but it was sufficient to simply say that everything within one light second or closer could be immediately seen and analyzed by the small seven-person bridge crew of the courier.
While they busied themselves with the space around the vessel, the Captain finally turned to look at the blond man occupying one of the two observer’s chairs above and to the left of the raised command platform.
“We’ll be entering Graecia’s heliosphere soon, Magellan.” The Captain said with an appraising glance for his tall passenger. “Once the fleet clears us, we’ll C-Drive to Hellas. You should be able to make those payment arrangements we discussed, now that we’re within range of the Ascendancy’s tachyon HoloNet.”
Arthur Magellan looked up from the 2D holoscreen projected off the unassuming black band wrapped around his left wrist. The information he had been perusing on the Graecia system vanished instantly, and Arthur shifted the attention of his blue eyes to the grizzled man addressing him.
“I sent the order while reading up on Graecia the moment we left warp.” Arthur said with a smile. “The Ascendancy’s Central Bank will transfer the fifteen thousand drachma the moment I’m station-side on Port Asfalís.”
“I’ll hold you to that, Magellan.” the Captain said without ire.
“I’d expect nothing less.” Arthur said while standing up and moving to join the Captain. He left his jacket where it hung on the back of the observer’s seat, and folded his arms—the long sleeves of his black shirt pulled up to below his elbows—across his chest.
When he did, he fully took in the view on the holoscreen for the first time, and let out a low whistle of appreciation at the images magnified across it at different points.
It was a Fleet. Not a small formation posing as one, but a genuine Fleet with full six-ship Squadrons and anchoring vessels for each Battle Group. In the thousand years since humans had first reached the stars, Carrier Doctrine still remained the core strategy of any successful interstellar military.
Four Carrier Battle Groups each composed of two Destroyer Squadrons, a Heavy Cruiser Squadron, and the anchoring Carriers themselves were each spread across the 50,000 square kilometer Calypso point in inexact patrol patterns, roughly 10,000 kilometers apart and at different elevations across the stellar plane. At the core of the dispersed formations hung the fifth and final Battle Group that actualized the Fleet, which was anchored by two Battleships and a Supercarrier between them.
Unless Graecia had vastly deviated from the normalcy of void warfare, the Destroyers would work as hunter-killer pairs to pursue and attack larger ships and support craft, while the Heavy Cruisers acted as line combat vessels to both screen for the carriers and exchange fire with a given enemy. The Carriers, meanwhile, would deploy swathes of Starfighters and other more specialized parasite craft.
The Battleships and their Supercarrier charge would be the fulcrum around which the Heavy Cruisers and Destroyers maneuvered. The two inordinately powerful ships of the line would be used as the fleet’s strong center-forwards, while the Supercarrier acted as the Command and Control vessel for the entire Fleet, and coordinated its smaller siblings.
It was an order of battle that was predictable, but also inarguably effective.
Each of the vessels had been built with adherence to the cultural nuances of the Ascendancy, with an elongated spearhead style to their construction and impressive amounts of forward-facing and broadside firepower.
Most stellar warfare was conducted at distances of a few thousand kilometers, thanks to the speed and power of even the most basic human weapons systems.
When combined with the absurd nature of the available electronic counter measures—whose prolific level of advancement rendered almost all computer-guided weaponry worthless—rampant throughout human space, the logic to opt for high-powered alpha-strike weaponry and destructive broadsides had become something of a universal constant among most successfully powerful stellar nations.
Given that he’d heard Ascendancy warships also liked to make use of prows designed for plasma lance empowered ramming, he hadn’t been too surprised by the aggressively forward-oriented ship design.
“It’s impressive, isn’t it?”
The disadvantage of being 6’5 was that Arthur had to look down to continue his conversation.
“The fleet? Yes. It's reassuring that they take their Calypso security so seriously.”
“It’s been a lesser version of this at the last three jumps, too.” Larriman replied grimly. The shorter man had only tilted his head as much as was absolutely necessary in order to meet Arthur’s eyes, but the gesture was appreciated regardless.
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
“That’s because you spent the majority of it in a deep sleep pod.” Larriman snorted.
“I don’t like long trips.” Arthur responded honestly. “Better to wake up when they’re nearly done, like I did in Korinth.”
“You did mention your dislike for extended voyages.” Larriman conceded with an appraising eye. “Though it’s surprising when said by a Freelancer. Isn’t your entire trade plied in voidspace?”
“So-so.” Arthur said with a casual wiggle of his unadorned right hand. “It really just comes down to the contract and the length of service. Most clients are just looking for someone to drive off pirates in the less heavily patrolled star systems.”
“We’ve had our share of run-ins with pirates.” Larriman admitted. “Though they peel off quickly enough once we transition to the C-Drive.”
“We're flying one hundred and twenty meters of pure acceleration!” the helmsman chimed in happily.
“Hey, shut up and fly.” another of the crew said without heat. “You can’t boast about acceleration when we aren’t even past the checkpoint yet.”
“It’s not my fault the Ascendancy isn’t—”
“Incoming message!” a voice cut in sharply. “Priority band, military IFF. It’s Graecian.”