> 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.
“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. They really take their Calypso security seriously.”
“It’s been a lesser version of this at the last three jumps, too.” Larriman said quietly. 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.”
“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 called out sharply. “Priority band, military IFF. It’s Graecian.”
“On-screen.” Larriman said without preamble.
The viewscreen’s seamless imagery was populated at the center a moment later by a large, rectangular digital window into what looked to be the warm glow of a populated command bridge. A pretty woman with a Mediterranean tan and brown hair tied into a single long braid appeared before them, and signs of on-going activity in her background gave the impression of quite a busy posting.
The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.
“Unknown vessel, this is Ypoploiarchós Cadaya Serenós of the Ascendancy Royal Navy Supercarrier Ulysses.” Arthur’s eyes ran over the woman’s striking red uniform while he observed, and he noted the tabs of rank declaring her the Ascendancy’s equivalent of a First Lieutenant.
He also made note of the fact that, for all that Graecia was a mid-Rim civilization, the clear use and pronunciation of the English that had become standard across the Humanosphere and their rapid act of voidspace interdiction spoke of a very well-trained military. “You are currently within the sovereign territory of the Graecian Ascendancy, and this is a lawful challenge of your intentions. Please flash ident and declare your purpose.”
“Ulysses control, this is Captain Larriman of the merchant courier Enterprising Fortune, in-bound with mail and media from the Charlemagne Cluster. I am flashing ident… now.”
Arthur glanced down when Larriman accessed a 2D screen of his own via the black metal band on his left wrist, and then looked back to the viewscreen to see Cadaya’s eyes shift to read something that had just arrived.
“We have a positive ident flash on your drive signature and hull, Enterprising Fortune, and have matched you to our records.” The Graecian woman said with far more warmth than had been in her initial greeting. “On behalf of the Kings and Ascendancy, welcome back to Graecia.”
“Thank you, ah, Ypop—Ypoploi—”
The woman—who Arthur imagined couldn’t have been more than forty given her youthful features—cut off the Captain’s struggles with a warm laugh.
“No need for that, Captain. First Lieutenant will suffice. We don’t expect foreigners to have an operational comprehension of Greek!”
“I see the ARN is as understanding as I remember, First Lieutenant.” Larriman said with a grateful laugh. “My thanks for your welcome, and it’s a pleasure to be back. Are we clear to proceed through the Calypso point and enter C-Drive?”
“Authorization for entry to the System-proper is granted, Captain.” The First Lieutenant said with a smile. “Proceed through the gravity shroud at your leisure, and activate C-Drive when ready. As a note, please remember to make your way straight to Port Asfalís at Hellas-L1 for refueling, docking, and customs.”
“I understand, Ulysses control. My thanks again for your warm welcome.”
“Our pleasure, Captain Larriman. Please enjoy your time in Graecia. Ulysses out.”
The connection cut off a moment later, and Arthur turned to Larriman with a thoughtful look. “I didn’t expect that.” He said honestly.
“Expect what?” Larriman asked with a look back up at him.
“How professional she was. The ARN could be any peer power from the Charlemagne Cluster in a different uniform. I’d heard very different stories about the Rim nations.”
“Graecia is an exception to most of those stereotypes, though sadly many of them are true. Just be glad we didn’t go to Liberty or, worse, Parthia.”
“Eugh.” One of the women on the bridge said. “Parthians give me the creeps. They look at me like I’m meat.”
“Lose some weight then.” Another of the crew cut in slyly.
“Hey, fuck you Albert! Brother or not, I swear to the stars I’ll fucking shoot you!”
Arthur snorted in amusement when the two siblings devolved into bickering and turned back to Larriman.
“Isn’t Parthia the nation Graecia’s at a standoff with?”
“Magellan,” Larriman said with a level look, “Parthia is at a standoff with anyone that owns an Alcubierre drive.”
The Alcubierre, or ‘A-Drive’, to which Larriman referred was named for the same scientist that, during the 20th century, theorized the idea of faster-than-light travel by stretching the fabric of space-time in a wave in front of a ship, while simultaneously causing it to expand behind. The ship then ‘surfed’ the bubble of re-expanding space.
Like the universe’s most Newtonian-defying rubber band.
The breakthrough that Alcubierre’s theory eventually provided became one of the most celebrated moments in human history. Using Alcubierre’s math as a starting point, scientists had discovered that instead of creating warped space, Alcubierre drives could instead be used to access a dimension layered above and through ‘Real Space’ called ‘Warp Space’.
For most vessels across the expansive width of the Humanosphere, Alcubierre Drives were the only feasible way to move between star systems.
“I thought that was the norm out here, honestly.” Arthur said with a sigh. “I guess that’s what I get for being a Fringe-born snob, or something.”
“It’s almost like you look at the Rim the same way the Core looks at the Fringe.” Larriman pointed out shrewdly.
“You make a good point.” Arthur admitted wryly. “I suppose I’m still adjusting to the idea that the Rim isn’t some stellar incarnation of a ‘wild west’ in space.”
“The fact that metaphor has survived over a thousand years of Human expansion still never ceases to amaze me.” Larriman said with a chuckle. “And the Rim can be bad, but the real wild west is the Frontier. Which, come to think of it, makes that analogy very pertinent.”
“Hard to keep a classic down, I guess.” Arthur said with a laugh.
Larriman shook his head. “Or a good Freelancer, I’d wager. I don’t make it my business to pry, Magellan, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t curious as to what series of events forced you to travel nearly two hundred light years from the outer-Fringe to the mid-Rim.”
“I got involved with the wrong woman.” Arthur said with an honest shrug.
Larriman stared at him and then burst out laughing.
“I knew those fancy genes of yours were trouble, Magellan. I just never thought they’d be trouble for you!”
Arthur smirked good-naturedly at the Captain’s words. “Hey now, I’m more than a handsome face.”
“Yeah!” One of the women on the bridge cut in. “You’re a handsome body, too!”
A round of laughter filled the bridge again, and Larriman raised an eyebrow at Arthur. “She may be jesting, but she has a point. You’re much too purposefully gene-tailored, and far too charismatic to just be a random Freelancer, Magellan. I’d pay good money to know your story.”
Arthur buried the spike of tense readiness that flared up at the Captain’s words and instead opted for an easy smile. “I’ll stick to being an interstellar man of mystery for now.”
Larriman’s expression faltered for a moment while looking at him, and the man simply nodded. “Suit yourself, Magellan.”
Arthur let out a low breath at the man’s reaction, and focused on controlling his mood and thoughts. With the level of psion density he possessed, which was rare even in the Fringe, his reaction to Larriman’s words had likely been enough to give the Captain a subtle sense of imminent lethal consequence.
Not that Larriman would really recognize that, as much as he would simply have a gut feeling not unlike that of a prey animal when confronted by a predator: become small, or run.
Arthur took firm control of his mood and turned back to the viewscreen, his eyes sweeping over the colossal castle-in-space Star Fortress built atop an engine-equipped asteroid. It hung unmoving above them, its design a mix between ancient Greek domes and more Norman towers and parapets—all wrapped within a transparisteel dome that contained its own atmosphere.
From their distance at the very edge of the Calypso point, it was only visible thanks to the magnification and visualization granted by the tachyon sensors.
It was still immense, and with a naked eye on the image, Arthur estimated the dome to be about twelve kilometers at its highest point, and eight in diameter.
The asteroid it was built on could probably have killed a planet on impact.
The immense Star Fortress and the Fleet assigned to it were holding static vigil over the 50,000 square kilometers within which interstellar traffic might emerge, and Arthur considered how many thousands of people must have resided within it while the Enterprising Fortune moved into and through the invisible gravity well generated by the Warp Anchor within the fortress’ hidden depths.
Such anchors were a staple of any star nation’s control of voidspace, and restricted access to higher forms of maneuvering like Compression Drives or—in the case of Calypso Points—Alcubierre Drives. The nature of a Warp Anchor was simple enough: build a gravity well generator, wrap it in a centimeter of neutronium alloy, and use a super-capital to tow it wherever it needed to go.
Then build a star fortress around it.
The reason it was called a ‘Warp Anchor’ and not a Gravity Anchor was, well, irrelevant.
People named things as they wished.
“How long until we breach the gravity shroud?” Arthur asked politely.
“An hour at full acceleration,” Larriman responded in a moderately subdued voice, “and from there, it’ll be about four hours from the edge of the heliosphere to Port Asfalís at Hellas-L1.”
Arthur nodded. “I’ll go and make sure I have everything ready to disembark. Maybe stretch a little. I’ve been asleep for…” He trailed off when he realized he had no actual idea. He hadn’t bothered to check.
“Two months, according to the Solar calendar.” Larriman said with a voice that gained some genuine amusement when he answered. “We shaved a month off the trip by not stopping at the Nioret Cluster and using the Euclidean route instead.”
“Up and over?”
“Up and over.” Larriman confirmed.
“I see.” Arthur said quietly. “Thank you for that. I appreciate the brevity of the trip.”
Larriman eyed him for a moment, and then inclined his head in silent acceptance of the unspoken olive branch.
“You’re welcome, Magellan. Now go see to your belongings. I don’t want to spend longer than I need to in Asfalís because you forgot your night light!”
Arthur snorted good-naturedly, shook his head, and left the bridge amid the quiet chuckles of the crew.