CHAPTER 12: SOL
3 months after the invasion.
The Greek god of the sky stood sentinel over the outer edges of Sol's grip, his gaze piercing through the desolation wrought by the God of the sea and the underworld. Below him lay the ice world, a frigid expanse that housed the Hewitt Mining and Research outer rim industrial complex. This formidable HMR facility was not only the largest extraction and processing hub in the Outer Rim Alliance territories, but it was also a lifeline for the countless operations scattered throughout the belt. HMR provided vast quantities of Water, Hydrogen, and Methane—resources that were essential for survival and prosperity. Every facility beyond the reach of Earth and Mars depended on these vital commodities, whether they were residential space stations, bustling trading hubs, or the critical shipyards and hospitals of the Federation Navy. The ice harvested from the twin Ice giants stood as the most crucial export, making these frozen worlds the perfect source for such indispensable resources.
In the wake of the chaos, most of the facility personnel had evacuated in a frantic rush, their hearts pounding as they received the harrowing news of the Pluto attack, which had illuminated the dark skies a full day before the official evacuation order was issued from the Compound. Miners and scientists alike scrambled to gather whatever supplies they could, strapping down equipment and burning hard at two g's toward Sol, desperate to escape the impending doom that loomed ominously over them. However, one figure remained behind—Henry Izuril, the brilliant scientist who had pioneered the possibility of creating protons and anti-protons from Hydrogen. Prior to John releasing intricate plans and the theoretical framework for what would become known as the Henderson Matter Anti-Matter Reactor, Dr. Izuril had postulated the innovative use of Anti-Protons extracted from the plentiful Hydrogen available in the two ice giants. His vision promised a nearly limitless source of clean fuel that could power an Antimatter reactor.
John's earlier theoretical paper proposed a design for an Antimatter reactor that utilized Helium or Methane as a source for Anti-protons, but the process was fraught with challenges. The design was crude and wildly inefficient, producing a net negative energy output that rendered the concept ultimately impractical. Years passed until Olympic Aerospace made a groundbreaking discovery in the asteroid belts of Orion. There, they unearthed a mineral with astonishing properties. Doctor Anders Søviknes, in a stroke of fortuitous luck, managed to harvest some of this ore and, through a series of fortunate accidents, generated an abundant supply of Anti-Protons. Tragically, his aids survived only a few hours longer, slipping away into the unknown. Building upon John's initial designs, the Norwegian scientist modified the concepts to incorporate the newly dubbed ore, Oranium, and in doing so, he successfully crafted what would come to be known as the Anders Antimatter Matter Reactor—a revolutionary leap forward in energy production.
The problem with Oranium lay in its extraordinary rarity. Since its remarkable discovery, it had not been located anywhere else within the vast expanse of known Federation space, aside from the perilous asteroid belt of the Orion system. Before the catastrophic Orion Genocide, the current mined inventory was projected to provide the Federation with a five-year supply of the precious ore. However, the system itself was estimated to contain only a twenty-seven-year total supply, casting serious doubt on the long-term viability of the groundbreaking new FTL drive. Dr. Izuril, a brilliant and unyielding scientist, had theorized a method to synthesize antimatter using the nearly abundant supply of hydrogen scattered throughout known space. Unfortunately for him, the relentless forces of the Alliance had arrived to put an abrupt halt to his ambitious research.
As chaos erupted around him, the data he had painstakingly gathered could not be transferred quickly enough to accompany the fleeing crew. Faced with this harrowing reality, he made the agonizing decision to stay behind, fully aware that his life would become the ultimate sacrifice for the future of humanity. Determined to protect his findings, he meticulously divided the crucial data into fifteen separate sections, transmitting them to various relay stations and outposts positioned strategically in the direction of Sol. Each fragment contained invaluable insights and groundbreaking theories, and he held onto the hope that this fragmented information would somehow find its way back to Earth before the planet fell to the encroaching threat, allowing it to be relayed to another human colony where it could be safeguarded and utilized in the desperate struggle for survival.
Izuril's heart raced as he carefully monitored the data stream, watching it tick away, centimeter by centimeter, as it transmitted vital information along one of many tightly focused beam laser transmitters. Simultaneously, he kept an anxious eye on the optical sensor feed, which displayed a cluster of Alliance ships drawing dangerously close to the mega facility. The facility, constructed by HMR, resembled more of a sprawling space station than a conventional building, as its structure could not descend below the upper troposphere. Concealed beneath thick clouds of hydrocarbons, methane, and ammonia, the facility was designed to be nearly invisible to optical sensors. He could only hope that the alien ships would not conduct a thorough scan of the ice giant and inadvertently uncover the existence of the vital research outpost hidden within its depths, a discovery that would spell doom for his work and for all who remained.
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Dr. Izuril went over the sensor readouts, relief washing over him as he noted that the escape craft were well outside of immediate danger, now more than a few light hours away. He felt a flicker of hope that his colleagues were safe, but that relief soon evaporated as he glanced at the short-range optical sensors. Silent alarms were flashing on every warning panel, a cacophony of alerts that punctuated the tense atmosphere—the Alliance ships were entering outer orbit of Uranus, now less than a thousand kilometers from the facility. His heart sank as he looked at the indicator: 34% of the total data had been transmitted, not nearly enough for any meaningful impact. Fifteen hours was the estimated time remaining for the transfer, and the ships would be within scanning range in less than two. Prayers were the only thing he could think of at that moment, prayers for his family, his work, the fate of humanity. His heart surged with desperate hope as he whispered them into the cold, sterile air of the control room.
Suddenly, his prayers seemed to have been answered when a flash of light appeared on the optical sensors. An object had struck one of the Alliance ships, tearing apart the primary drive cone and igniting a chain reaction of secondary explosions that ripped apart the remainder of the aft section. The scientist watched in amazement, his prayer seemingly answered by an unknown force. His bewildered expression contorted even more as a second ship was struck, then a third, and a fourth. Within a matter of 15 seconds, 25 ships were struck by an invisible rain of destructive force. Ten of them were instantly annihilated, their reactors exploding in cataclysmic fury. The remaining 15 damaged ships and the twenty that had escaped unscathed believed the rain of terror was over. But time continued to tick mercilessly; ten minutes had counted down with no other activity. The fleet halted their approach to the station and began to exercise caution, flooding the area with sensors to determine what the ice giant had fired at them, their dread palpable as they braced for the unknown.
Panic surged anew within the doctor as he observed the remaining armada gradually encircle the planet, saturating the station with a cacophony of light and a spectrum of sensor technologies. The station's alarms blared to life, their shrill sounds piercing through the air, while flashing lights competed for Izuril's attention, distracting him from the harrowing display unfolding behind him. The Alliance fleet had fixated all their detection capabilities on Uranus, mistakenly believing the Ice Giant had unleashed a weapon upon the incoming fleet, completely overlooking the threat that lay in wait due to the ominous gift left by WarpStar.
Missiles began to penetrate the area, propelled solely by the force of their launch. As they homed in on the impact explosions caused by the railgun darts that marked the lead of the tactical formation, the AI systems sprang into action, igniting active sensors and blanketing the region with LiDar, Radar, and Graviton active sensors. The sensor readouts aboard the Alliance ships lit up with multiple threats emerging from behind, but it was already too late. Each missile autonomously selected its target, and the clusters of missiles operated in perfect harmony, ensuring maximum devastation.
Impact. The fifteen unfortunate derelict ships, cursed to endure the brutal onslaught of ship-buster railgun darts, had drawn the short straw once again in the form of MKIV five-ton missiles. The majority were vaporized in an instant, while the remnants plummeted into the crushing atmosphere of the Greek God, facing a slow and agonizing demise. The remaining missiles found their marks, striking the ships that had managed to escape the initial wave. This time, the undamaged vessels were not caught off guard; their armor and shields, now powered, mitigated the devastation wrought by the missiles compared to the rail darts. Nevertheless, the damage was significant. Smart projectiles tore through hulls, creating gaping holes from impacts, igniting primary and secondary explosions, and exploiting weaknesses in the armor.
When the second wave finally receded, no additional ships lay destroyed, but many bore the scars of battle, bloodied and battered. Sensor pulses surged through the area from which the missiles had originated, anticipating and scanning for further ordinance from an elusive stealth ship. Yet, no sensor data returned; the region remained utterly devoid of any traces. The third wave loomed ominously, yet approached from a different vector. The nuclear torpedo package, left behind by WarpStar, had been analyzing the unfolding battle since the first rail dart impact. Running predictive algorithms every millisecond, it collectively calculated that the enemy would shift focus after the missile barrage. With the hostile ships distracted by the rail darts, the torpedoes adjusted their trajectory, firing off the thrusters at their disposal. Thirty minutes elapsed since the missile attack, the third wave still absent from sight, when the torpedoes ignited their booster rockets and surged toward the remaining ships, accelerating at an astonishing rate of over 750g's.
The final wave struck too fast, faster than anyone could have reacted, from the second the light from the ignition boosters ignited, to the light from the first impact, it was over before it had began. Every torpedo had observed, and calculated an impact point, and every ship had an impact. 1000 megatons of pure nuclear fision warfare melted any sub capital ship in the area, vaporizing any traces of an invasion force. Doctor Izuril let go of a breath, one he knew he was holding. The scene outside his little corner in space once brought despair, and fear, now is hopeful. The doctor would get his data sent out where it needed to go, and it would be assembled, decrypted, and retransmitted to Alpha Centauri, unfortunately for the doctor, hope was only a fantasy. 3 days after the destruction, another fleet had come to replace the loses, one several times larger and with capital ships for support. The HMR facility didn't withstand bombardment from the Dreadnaught, Dr. Izuril never felt his skin tingle as the super heated plasma vaporized the research facility.