CHAPTER 11: WARPSTAR
The coffee was just about the only thing right now that could calm his nerves; the anxiety of what was to come had never been stronger. John had faced tense situations before—life-and-death experiences, even battles with the Republic on numerous occasions. But for some reason, this time felt different, a palpable weight pressing down on him. They were not charging into battle but waving the flag of peace, a concept that seemed almost foreign to him given the history of conflict that had marred both their worlds. John had only the slightest clue how his Russian and Asian brothers would greet him, their faces likely etched with the weight of past grievances and unresolved tensions. Yet, he held onto a thread of hope. He could at least glean some insight into what to expect when he learned that the Foreign Minister for the Republic was herself enjoying a cup of coffee in the Wardroom, a small act that carried significant meaning. In an effort to aid the peaceful transition, John had granted access to most parts of the ship to the Minister, which made some of the officers uncomfortable, their distrust simmering just beneath the surface like a barely contained storm. Yet, a few began to grow fond of the woman who had spent her formative years in Moscow, her resilience and unwavering conviction in the face of adversity slowly winning them over, transforming their initial apprehensions into admiration that surprised even themselves. They found themselves drawn to her, captivated by her stories and the strength she exuded, as if she held the power to bridge the chasm that had long existed between their peoples.
"Ah, Captain," Minister Bortsova softly spoke as John entered the wardroom, her voice warm yet edged with formality, creating a delicate balance in the room that felt almost inviting. The atmosphere was thick with unspoken tension, yet her presence seemed to soften it, like a balm applied to a weary wound.
"How did you know it was me?" The Captain glanced around the room, noting the solitary figure of another officer at the end of the main table, utterly engrossed in reading or perhaps updating a report, oblivious to the world around him. The walls of the chamber reflected the dance of rainbow light, a kaleidoscope of colors emitted from the exterior of the ship, creating a vibrant display that played across the surfaces, as there was no other light source present in the chamber to compete with its brilliance, crafting a surreal atmosphere that contrasted sharply with the gravity of their situation. It was as if the beauty outside mocked the storm brewing within.
"You walk with distinction, Captain," she replied, her gaze shifting from the spectacle outside to meet his eyes, a flicker of appreciation passing between them, an unspoken connection forged in the midst of uncertainty. "The sound of your boots, your stride—they all have a rhythm that is unmistakable, a cadence that commands attention."
"I didn't realize I walked in a specific way to produce a distinct sound," he replied with a faint smile, his curiosity piqued, intrigued by her perception. The compliment lingered in the air, wrapping around him like a comfortable cloak, momentarily dispelling the weight of his responsibilities as he pondered the nuances of how one's presence could resonate so profoundly.
"Oh, I don't really know," she laughed lightly, the sound echoing softly in the room, momentarily easing the tension that had begun to creep in like a shadow. "My aide told me you were headed up; he keeps me informed about everyone entering and leaving the room I occupy, always ensuring I’m prepared for any eventuality. It’s a bit like having a guardian who’s always on alert, isn’t it?"
John returned the chuckle, feeling a momentary easing of the tension that had wrapped around them like a tightening noose. "Well, that explains the menacing pile of muscle outside, looking ready to spring into action at any moment."
"Yes." She smiled knowingly, her expression softening, as if recalling something fond. "How can I help you, Captain?"
"I wanted to be the first, or maybe the next in a line, to say thank you." His voice held a sincerity that cut through the air, a rare moment of vulnerability.
The minister tilted her head, her lips curling into a slight smile as her brow narrowed in curiosity. "For what?"
"Peace." The minister's expression shifted, her features softening as she realized the despair some of the people felt onboard, the weight of their shared history pressing heavily upon them like a heavy shroud. It was a burden she understood all too well.
"I do believe thanks should go both ways," she countered, a hint of sadness in her eyes that hinted at the struggles faced by her people, the scars of conflict etched into their very souls. John took his turn to look confused, the nuances of her words sparking a flicker of unease within him. "Contrary to popular belief, the Republic has wanted peace for quite some time. We grow weary of this unending war, of altercations that leave men and women dead. All for what? We no longer see an end goal, just a cycle of violence that seems never-ending."
"Then why did it take the invasion of Sol to bring us together?" John pressed, seeking clarity, hoping to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding that lay between them like a vast, turbulent sea.
The minister returned her gaze to the rainbow void outside, her expression distant as she contemplated her answer, the swirling colors reflecting the chaos within. "Arrogance, ignorance, stubbornness—take your pick." Her voice carried the weight of history, a lament for the lost opportunities.
"From who?" he asked, intrigued by her perspective, eager to understand the roots of their shared conflict, the threads that had woven their fates together in this turbulent tapestry.
The minister smiled, a glimmer of hope lighting her features as if she was about to unveil a deeper truth. "From everyone."
"Yeah, I suppose that is true," he conceded with a thoughtful nod. "I never understood it, to be honest, but I am just a captain in the Navy. I know strategy and how to command a starship, but not much about politics." His admission came with a hint of self-deprecation, an unguarded moment that laid bare his vulnerabilities, as if he were peeling back the layers of his own identity.
"It's a long and hard life," she replied, her voice tinged with a note of weariness. The fatigue etched into her features suggested that the weight of her experiences had become a formidable burden, threatening to overwhelm her with the sheer magnitude of what she had witnessed. "I've been entrenched in it for the vast majority of my life, ever since I could have volunteered for service. But..." Her voice trailed off as she hesitated, the seriousness of her expression deepening. She returned her gaze to John, a flicker of determination igniting within her, illuminating the depths of her resolve. "I'm tired of watching men die. I'm tired of sitting back while the political elite reap the benefits of this war. Our society is crumbling under the weight of poverty and suffering, while the upper class enjoys the fruits of everything." With that, she finished the remainder of her whiskey in one swift motion, her eyes reflecting a mixture of frustration and longing, a fire burning deep within her chest that demanded to be acknowledged. "Take this, for example. This is what you call American whisky, is it not?"
"Yeah, I do believe that particular bottle we have onboard was brewed in Tennessee," he replied, taking a sip of his own coffee. The rich warmth of the brew contrasted sharply with the cold realities of their conversation, offering a momentary comfort amidst the chaos that surrounded them. "We ran out of the Martian stuff while we were stranded on Wolf."
"American, Martian, Cerecian—it does not matter where it came from. It’s whisky. People like me get to enjoy this, but because importing it from the Federation is a near nightmare, we made it illegal. If you are not connected, you don't get to enjoy it, no matter the cost. Yet, the elite get to bypass the law. In the Republic, it is more expensive to be poor than to be rich." Her voice rose with passion, underscoring the injustice that had become a part of her daily existence.
"That took us a long time to overcome, but we finally did," John replied, his voice reflecting a sense of pride mixed with understanding. The struggle of his people resonated within his thoughts, a reminder of how far they had come and the sacrifices made along the way.
"That's my point, Captain. I admire the Federation for overcoming such a difficult feat. I want prosperity for the Republic; I want to make our society great!" Her eyes sparkled with fervor as she spoke, each word infused with hope that felt almost palpable. It stood in stark contrast to the despair that had permeated their earlier conversation, as if the very air around them thrummed with possibility.
Before John could muster a response, the master circuit system interrupted, the voice of the Officer of the Deck cutting through the atmosphere with urgency. "CO, Con, sir, we have less than five minutes until FTL exit point."
Quickly, John pulled out his hand terminal, connecting it to the ship's master circuit system and tuning it to the bridge MC. "Con, CO, Aye. Sound general quarters. Set alert condition one, get all stations ready. We'll be down in a minute." He tucked the terminal back into his pocket and finished his coffee, the brief moment of levity now replaced by the weight of impending duty. The looming uncertainty cast a long shadow over the camaraderie they had just shared, reminding him of the responsibilities that lay ahead. "Care to join me, Minister?"
Lana smiled, a brief flicker of warmth crossing her features, but before she could respond, the ship's 1MC system abruptly interrupted her. The three battle station claxon bells rang out, their piercing tones echoing down the corridors and slicing through the air with an urgency that brooked no delay. "General quarters, all hands to battle stations. Alert condition one." The voice of a young junior officer resonated through the speakers, a mix of authority and anxiety evident in his tone as he commanded for the first time in his career, his nerves palpable as they tangled with the gravity of the moment.
In an instant, the ship sprang to life, every station enveloped in a whirlwind of activity as the crew shifted gears. No one was sleeping or relaxing; the atmosphere crackled with tension. Every crew member rushed to their main postings, the urgency of the situation propelling them into action. Even the backup and night shift personnel, who had expected a quiet watch, mobilized swiftly as makeshift damage control teams. They donned their gear with practiced efficiency, their faces set in a grim mask of determination interlaced with the unmistakable flicker of fear, each one acutely aware of the battle that loomed ahead—one that no one wished to face but knew was now inevitable.
"Attention all hands," John spoke over the 1MC, his voice steady and authoritative, cutting through the charged atmosphere like a knife. "We are about to exit FTL into an unknown situation. We are entering the heart of Republic space; this is their colony. The vast majority of their fleet will be in system, and I have no doubt we will be greeted in kind. They don't know we are coming; they don't know we will be waving the white flag. All stations need to be ready for major damage repair. I want every team on high alert and prepared for immediate action."
"Sir, thirty seconds," Char called out, her focus unwavering as she read the time on her display with laser-like concentration. She strapped herself in with practiced ease, starting to prime the fusion reactors to generate thrust the moment they exited the pocket dimension of space. Her hands deftly manipulated the controls, the fluid motions a testament to her extensive training and experience. The soft hum of machinery around her seemed to amplify the tension, a constant reminder of the stakes at play.
"Alright, folks, strap in!" John commanded, his voice steady despite the storm of uncertainty swirling around them. The weight of leadership pressed heavily on his shoulders, but he refused to falter, drawing strength from the resolve of his crew. He glanced around the bridge, meeting the eyes of his team, silently urging them to steel themselves for what lay ahead.
The bridge crew secured their restraints, ensuring they were ready for whatever awaited them beyond the threshold. Minister Bortsova and Vice President Adams followed suit, their expressions a mix of determination and anxiety as they observed the crew's preparation. The tension in the air was palpable, a heavy cloud of unspoken fears and hopes, as they all braced for the unknown, the atmosphere electric with anticipation and dread.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Char began the countdown from ten, her voice steady yet tinged with a thrill that mirrored the rising tension in the atmosphere. Each number she uttered felt like a drumbeat, the anticipation thickening around them like a fog. John had given her the order to cut engines the moment the expected exit point came into view, a crucial directive that weighed heavily on her shoulders. As she reached "One," she pulled the FTL throttle lever down to zero, the motion fluid yet deliberate. In that instant, the breathtaking spectacle of mixed light that had created the rainbow effect began to fade, melding away to reveal the stark reality of their surroundings. The vibrant chaos of the cosmos was swiftly replaced by the gravity of their situation, the colours retreating like a curtain drawn on a grand performance.
In the tense silence that followed, the Republic Foreign Minister and the Vice President of the Federation exchanged nervous glances, their expressions betraying the anxiety that gripped them. The room fell eerily quiet, the sudden shift in energy almost suffocating, as if the very air had thickened with unspoken fears. The low hum of the fans and the soft whir of equipment became the only sound, amplifying the tension in the command center, each heartbeat echoing louder than the last in the charged atmosphere. "What the hell is going on?" Vice President Chancy Adams almost yelled, her voice rising in urgency as it cut through the heavy silence like a knife. The frustration of their predicament ignited within him, a fire that demanded answers. She was met with stares from most of the crew, their eyes wide with shock and surprise, but one junior officer, perhaps emboldened by a rush of adrenaline or the folly of youth, had the audacity to shush the Vice President. The audacity of the act hung in the air like a fragile thread, both shocking and strangely defiant in the face of uncertainty.
The clock ticked upward, plus six, plus nine; the room remained enveloped in a tense silence until they finally heard the sound they had been waiting for. The master circuit system crackled to life, but it didn’t deliver the news they wanted or expected. "Con, CIC, Sir. I..." Ensign Smelly faltered, her voice trembling as she struggled to find the words to convey the chilling report that weighed heavily on her heart. "Sir, it's gone. Everything."
"What!?" Minister Bortsova shouted, her voice laced with disbelief, the stark reality of the situation crashing down around her like a tidal wave. She attempted to stand violently, but was met with painful resistance from her chair, as if the very fabric of their dire circumstances conspired to keep her anchored down in her seat.
"CIC, Con, please explain," John replied, his voice steady despite the chaos swirling around him, his focus sharpening as he sought clarity amidst the confusion.
"Sir, it's just like Orion. The planet is a molten goo; I am reading tons of debris patterns all over the system, and more are coming in by the second. So far, every space station that was in the system has been destroyed, and all Republic ships have been obliterated. Sir, it’s just like Orion, except this time we are far too late. Radioactive decay on the closest debris field estimates the system has been in this catastrophic state for over a month, maybe two."
"Noooo!" Lana attempted to shout, but her emotions constricted her throat, preventing anything more than a barely audible whisper. Despair clawed at her insides, a relentless grip that made her feel as though she were sinking into the very chair that confined her. She couldn't stand; not only were her straps restraining her, but her legs felt unresponsive, as if they were betraying her in this moment of overwhelming grief. The weight of her people’s loss pressed down on her like a suffocating shroud. She sank deeper into her chair, the ship's artificial gravity pulling her down, while the straps did their job of preventing the complete collapse of the Republic representative.
"Are there any survivors?" John focused intently on the report streaming in, his heart racing as he pushed aside his concern for the minister, forcing himself to concentrate on the task at hand.
"Nega..." Smedly cut herself off abruptly as new information flooded in, her eyes wide with alarm, the gravity of the situation amplifying the urgency in her voice. "New contact, bearing two five two negative thirteen degree drift, range two hundred seventy thousand kilometers. Contact registering as Alliance Cruiser, burning hard towards us, estimated a seventeen-g burn."
"CIC, Con, aye. Go active," John replied, setting aside the mic with a flick of his wrist, the urgency of their predicament igniting his senses like a flame. "Helm, immediate execute, all ahead flank." He remained calm and collected in the face of the imminent threat, even as the Vice President began to take notice of the growing agitation among the non-crew members witnessing the escalating tension, the weight of uncertainty hanging thick in the air.
"Helm, aye," Char responded, her voice steady despite the chaos. She set the speed knob to 15g, pushing the lever forward with determined precision. The booming roar of the mains firing up resonated throughout the hull, a deep, resonant thrum that coursed through the ship like a heartbeat. Everyone felt the momentary push as the inertia stabilizers kicked in, compensating for the increased thrust, the ship responding to their command like a living entity eager to flee danger.
John glanced to his side at Heidi, subconsciously seeking any advice or ideas she might have to offer. But all she could do was return a shrug, her expression mirroring the uncertainty that had taken hold of them all. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a knife, wrapping around them like a shroud. He had a fleeting moment to formulate a plan of action, but doubt gnawed at him—what was his next move? The Republic’s home lay in ruins, seemingly struck before Orion had met its tragic fate, and now they were sitting ducks in an unfamiliar system, vulnerable and exposed. He had to find out if there was still a glimmer of hope for Republic support amid the chaos. "Minister Bortsova, Madam Vice President, will you please join me in the wardroom?" he asked, his voice steady despite the undercurrents of anxiety. They both silently unfastened their straps, the sound of the clasps echoing ominously in the tense silence as they proceeded to the bridge exit, unsettled by the gravity of their circumstances, the weight of their roles pressing down on them like an anvil.
"Commander, you have the con."
"I have the con!" Commander Watney replied, settling into the command seat with a look of determination that spoke volumes, taking the reins with the confidence of someone who had meticulously prepared for this pivotal moment. The weight of responsibility settled on her shoulders, but she embraced it, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.
"What the absolute hell are we doing here?!" The Vice President nearly shouted as they entered the Wardroom, her voice ringing out with urgency. The occupants of the room—senators and aides alike—joined in on the outcry, their faces a blend of confusion and fear, everyone demanding answers. Their collective anxiety manifested in a cacophony of voices, filling the air with a palpable tension that seemed to thrum like a live wire.
"Senators, please. Remain calm," John urged, his tone cutting through the chaos like a knife. He motioned for everyone to take a seat at the briefing table in the center of the room, his voice firm but steady, trying to create an air of authority amidst the turmoil. He knew the importance of maintaining composure, not just for himself but for the sake of those around him, as the fate of their mission hung in the balance.
"We heard the feed on the bridge; the system is destroyed. We need to head to Alpha Centauri at once!" the Senator from the Outer Rim Alliance exclaimed, his voice tinged with urgency, the gravity of the situation igniting a fierce sense of self-preservation that surged through him like a tidal wave.
"Typical spacer, always wanting to run," the Martian senator shot back, crossing his arms defiantly as if to physically shield himself from the reality of their plight. His bravado served as a thin veil over the fear that flickered in his eyes, betraying the anxiety bubbling beneath the surface.
John felt a wave of anger rising within him at the bickering, the futility of their argument palpable in the charged atmosphere. "And what do you propose we do, Senator?" he asked, his patience wearing thin, the urgency of the situation demanding immediate action, each second slipping away like grains of sand through an hourglass.
"We fight, right here, right now. Kill that bastard chasing us, then we go to Alpha Centauri and rally the fleet," the Senator insisted, his bravado unwavering, the fire of his convictions lighting his eyes with a fierce determination that seemed almost reckless.
Lana Bortsova watched in horror as the room descended into chaos, the debate focused solely on strategy while completely ignoring the fate of her people. Her heart ached for the lost lives that had been snuffed out so cruelly, each name a reminder of their shared humanity slipping further away from their grasp.
"And why the hell are we not doing that right now? We're being chased; start firing on them!" the Senator from Brazil interjected, his voice filled with fervor, the desperation in his tone underscoring the gravity of their plight as if he believed that immediate action could somehow turn the tide.
Enki began to laugh uncontrollably, the sound jarring amidst the tension, an absurd contrast to the dire circumstances unfolding before them. "Do you not understand how space combat works?" he asked, incredulity evident in his expression, his amusement a stark reminder of the absurdity of their predicament.
"You'll have to forgive our elected officials, Enki; they are not our brightest," John responded, a hint of sarcasm lacing his words, which sparked an outcry in the room, the tension rising as tempers flared, each voice adding to the cacophony of confusion.
"Watch your mouth; I'll have you..." The Vice President began to say, his face flushed with indignation, the air crackling with tension as he struggled to maintain control over the fractious gathering, the stakes too high for decorum to prevail.
"Or what? You are not the commander-in-chief. I am the highest-ranking military person here, and right now, I am in charge. I don't have time to cater to political bullshit. I am not a politician; I am here to save the lives of every human, not just yours. Your clear lack of empathy towards the loss of the Republic world speaks volumes about your character and explains why we are in this lasting fucking war." Lana stared at John, feeling a surge of respect for him as he stood his ground, his unwavering resolve cutting through the chaos like a beacon of clarity. The Senators from various nations across the Federation, their faces flushed with indignation, shifted uneasily in their seats, caught between their mounting anger and the undeniable truth of John's words. The tension in the room crackled like electricity, the air thick with unspoken accusations and unyielding pride, as Lana admired John's courage to confront the uncomfortable reality that many were too afraid to acknowledge.
"Minister Bortsova, do you have any suggestions?" John’s voice rose above the murmurs, and he seemed to be the only one in the room who genuinely cared for the Russians, a fact that prompted a smile to break through the otherwise stern demeanor of the Republic minister.
"I do," Bortsova replied, her tone steady but laced with an undercurrent of urgency. "If protocol had been followed, only an eighth of our fleet would have been on site during the assault. In the event that the Federation had discovered our location and initiated an offensive, the majority of our forces would have redirected to launch an assault on Sol."
"That's very comforting to hear," one of the senators interjected, his voice dripping with sarcasm, as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed defensively.
"Don't worry," Bortsova continued, her gaze unwavering. "No one wanted to launch an assault on Sol. It would have only happened if we had confirmation of a Federation attack. Since Adronov would have been jammed during the Alliance Assault, the Invasion of Sol would not have been authorized. Additionally, we would have needed explicit authorization from Moscow."
"Do you know where your fleet would have gone, Minister?" John asked, his curiosity piqued, sensing the weight of the decisions that hung in the balance, like a storm cloud ready to burst.
"I do," Bortsova replied, her expression shifting from caution to determination, a fierce glint igniting in her eyes. "Have your helmswoman navigate to these coordinates." With that, she produced a holographic display, the numbers glowing brightly in the dim light of the chamber, casting an otherworldly glow on their faces.
"Thank you," John said, glancing at the Russian minister with a smile that conveyed both gratitude and an understanding of the complexities they faced, an unspoken bond forming in the midst of chaos. The atmosphere in the room shifted subtly, the tension easing just a fraction as they collectively contemplated the gravity of their next steps, each person aware that their choices could alter the course of history.
"But how do we prevent the Republic from destroying us on sight? Without communication from Andronov, they will assume the worst, and for good reason. Any non-Republic craft entering the system will be met with hostility; they will shoot first and ask questions later," John asked, his brow furrowing in concern.
"You are correct, Captain. As soon as the WarpStar enters the system, she will be overwhelmed by their firepower. Your advanced shields and maneuverability will struggle to overcome that assault quickly," Lana retorted, her voice steady, yet laced with the reality of their dire situation.
The room remained silent, but only for a moment, while the one tactician in the room who had a plan spoke up, his tone resolute.
"We show up with an overwhelming force of our own," Admiral Enki replied, a hint of confidence threading through his words.
"How so, Admiral?" John asked, leaning forward, intrigued by the prospect of a strategic advantage.
"Firstly, the Republic has never had an encounter with the Sumerian Empire, and secondly, we possess fleets all across the galaxy that outnumber the Republic nine hundred to one. Even one of our science fleets could easily overpower them. We show up in force, compel them to surrender, and then we open negotiations," Admiral Enki explained, his eyes gleaming with the promise of a calculated risk.
"I have to be aboard that fleet, Admiral," Minister Bortsova responded, her voice firm, underscoring her commitment to her people.
"I would hope you would suggest that, Minister. Yes, I believe for the negotiations to go well, you must speak on behalf of your people," Enki affirmed, recognizing the importance of her role in the impending confrontation.
"Alright, it's settled then. Our next stop needs to be Sumer, to gather the Sumerian Fleet," John declared, a spark of determination igniting within him as they prepared to face the challenges ahead, united in purpose.