Terrah: Damnation

By Scribe I Am

The time of the Khram Tabwuiq is drawing near and the Grand Inquisitor has finally learned that the key to it resides within the Word made flesh. He will stop at nothing in obtaining his prize - a young woman named Selene Ross.

The devastating events of a final war of attrition decimate the human population to a mere 1 billion. Yet, a glimmer of hope lies in the discovery of a new planet - Terrah. However, rebuilding the human race is not as simple as the Reunited Nations had conceived. Sent to secure the new colony world, Lieutenant Selene Ross and the crew of the battlecarrier Solitude quickly become humanitys last hope for survival when the forces of the Grand Inquisitor strike with overwhelming force.

Little does Selene know that she is the reason for the war. But she is not alone on her journey as she pines for fellow pilot Victor, who secretly shares the same longing for her under the jealous eyes of his comrade. Trapped in a hostile, militaristic world, the young souls aboard the Solitude must battle their own demons and confront the mysterious enemy from beyond the void.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris AU
• Release date: Apr 29, 2014
• ISBN: 9781493136483

Scribe I Am

Scribe I Am was born in the city of M. in R. in 1987 and has been writing since the age of 19. He is currently the author of 16 science fiction, fantasy and action novels. All shall come to pass Like sands in a hollow hourglass. I was created out of none Thus no One’s will can be undone. Only I existed through the time I made And it was my will that made me great. There was no One to understand or hear my prayer, Leaving me in the darkness of despair, Until it dawned upon my mind’s eternal throne That the voice of God was just my own.

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Copyright © 2014 by Roman Bruskov.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Rev. date: 06/24/2015

Xlibris

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CONTENTS

Prologue

Chapter 1 Let’s Go

Chapter 2 Incoming Woes

Chapter 3 Vae Victis

Chapter 4 Pandora’s Gift to the Lost

Chapter 5 Wounded Bird in Orphaned Lands

Chapter 6 In the Forges of Conviction

Chapter 7 If Shadows Could Speak

Chapter 8 Ashes to Ashes, Faith to God

Chapter 9 Rising Stars and Burning Debris

PART 1/10

PROLOGUE

J une 12, 2062. The world slid into chaos. Stock markets tumbled, money flowed into the hands of the few and demonstrations erupted. Lethal force was used by the corrupt governments to quell any opposition.

Disgusted by the decadent world order, states, en masse, abandoned the soon–defunct UN, which had turned into a quagmire of convoluted political debates serving no purpose but to buy time for proxy wars of interests. Pressured by a collapsed economy and many years of drought, China splits into two warring factions. India, Pakistan and most of the Middle Eastern countries buckle to crushing poverty, unable to sustain their populations under the battering ram of natural disasters. Meanwhile, the South American nations suffer from a catastrophic lack of resources. The Eastern Alliance is formed on September 9th, 2066, headed by the indomitable Revolutionary Guards Directorate Party of China that had crushed the Democratic People’s Republic of China with the support of malignant Chaos Theory agents and gathered many dissatisfied nations-turned puppets by staged coup d’états under its radical influence.

In the Northern Hemisphere, the European Union merrily marched towards ruin, dissolving rapidly, as the economically prosperous states were no longer willing or capable of supporting their poorer European members, adopting protectionist economic structures.

As a last ditch effort to counteract the Alliance’s growing economic and military strength, the rapidly crumbling under economic turmoil Independent States of the Americas, the barely holding on Russian Federation and Great Britain formed strategic alliances with the remaining highly protectionist European states, Japan and Unified Korea, thus forming the Western Coalition.

Every available resource was put at the service of the military industry as technology became the panacea in a struggle for supremacy.

War was inevitable.

And the war erupted on October 12, 2068, at 09:24 hours GMT, when Alliance forces crossed the Russian border from northern China in a perfectly coordinated maneuver and began a rapid advance through the Siberian wastes. Twelve minutes later, war was declared and every nation in the world was mobilized in the ultimate, and seemingly last, struggle for survival.

Two years of hell reigned supreme on Earth with unspeakable losses on all sides. Military operations waxed and waned, leaving behind fields of death and ash under the hooves of the blood-drunk Grim Reaper. News reports grew darker daily with ever greater casualty figures and a complete indifference towards human suffering from a desensitized humanity.

The resolution to the catastrophic war came on June 4, 2070. Under relentless advance from all sides, with Western Coalition troops crossing the Chinese border in Operation Slain Dragon, Pakistan, India and China launched their nuclear missiles at vital enemy cities, contingents and installations.

The Coalition retaliated one minute and nine seconds later.

On June 5, 2070, the world lay in ruins. The European continent had sustained twenty one direct nuclear blasts. The Central American continent had sustained forty nine hits. The Latin American continent had sustained irredeemable damage with seventeen nuclear hits. The Siberian contingents of Coalition forces were hit with thirty six nuclear impacts. It had finally happened. Most Alliance and Coalition nations were wiped off the face of the Earth.

All were punished.

Four years of nuclear winter, silence, painstaking rebuilding and immeasurable sacrifices later, the final count of toll of the Third World War was released: seven billion, seven hundred twenty one million, seventy two thousand dead.

The population of Earth in 2074: one billion, three hundred seventy two million, two hundred fifty nine thousand.

In a last effort to reconcile the survivors, on August 24, 2104, The Reunited Nations - The RN, was formed and the Reunification War erupted against all that refused to join.

But more important than the RN’s existence in the eyes of the surviving humans, a scientific study concluded that Earth was deemed uninhabitable in the next one hundred years.

Though thousands of voices hailed the end of the world, salvation came on November 8, 2109, when the Hubble 7 deep space research telescope discovered a habitable planet in the Andromeda Galaxy, 2.52 million lightyears from Earth. The planet, nicknamed Terrah, became humanity’s last hope for survival.

Twenty seven years of ceaseless research, development and construction later, the Mayflower ship was launched to the Andromeda Galaxy. Powered by Hyperlight Drive engines with 750,000 settlers onboard it was the first truly spaceworthy vessel ever built, the product of the greatest technological undertaking a united humanity had ever conceived.

By October 17, 2152, eight million settlers resided on Terrah and the Reunification Wars had come to an end, the last insurgent groups eradicated in the Pakistani Wastelands.

After a period of relative peace and hope, on August 1, 2153, the SETI 5 deep space research and stellar scanning program in the Chilean Andes picked up a short burst of intense broadband signals emanating approximately 3.3 million lightyears from the Andromeda Galaxy. The ensuing decoding established it to be a long range frequency diplomatic package transmission in the language of an unknown civilization pronouncing a phrase that would become the embodiment of mystery: We found her. The incident was coded the Extension.

Two years later, details of the incident were leaked into the press and the RN found itself facing the greatest challenge of its existence. All of humanity panicked and dangerous radicals began to emerge, buoyed by malicious voices. To calm the population and win popularity, RN Secretary General Maximilian Prescott ordered a massive arms buildup and waged a ruthless, personal war against all dissidents.

On May 2, 2157, the strato-battlecarrier SBC–01 Solitude, was launched from the state of the art I Por Muove space shipyards in low Earth orbit.

At 1526 meters long, 620 meters wide, 196 meters high, the Solitude was the largest ship ever constructed. With 2861 hands aboard, including 244 combat pilots, 62 marine pilots, 740 marines, 20 Specialists, 40 SPETSNAZ foreign contingent troops, 180 gunners, 600 support crew, 33 takeoff and landing coordination personnel, 840 spacecraft support personnel and engineers, and 64 senior officers, she was the crowning jewel of the newly formed Reunited Nations Stellar Navy, the RNSN.

The SBC–01 Solitude’s armament included 98 Scylla AAA installations, 19 Nidhog anti–aircraft missile launchers, 16 Basilisk anti-capital ship missile launchers, 14 Hydra GAC Gauss Acceleration Cannons, six Harpoon heavy torpedo launchers, and ten sixteen missile tube Satyr general purpose VLS Vertical Launch Systems.

Propulsion and power supply was provided by two Orpheus class HLD Hyper Light Drives, eight Narcissus Impulse Drives, four Titania class heavy fusion reactors, eight Olympic class fusion reactors, and four Halcyon class capacitors.

The ground fighting force was composed of 45 Panthera Colonial Tanks, 15 V1700 model Scorpion 159mm artillery pieces, 35 M–2020 Armored Personnel Carriers, 50 HUMVEE patrol cars, and ten Weasel fast attack vehicles.

And finally, the Fighter Complement: 10 FSU–88 NOSFERATU state of the art space superiority fighters, 60 Pyros interceptors, 80 Atropos space superiority fighters, 80 Sunrise light interceptors, 50 Grizzly heavy bombers, 35 Cerebus attack craft, 25 Dragonfly hover gunships, 20 Vulture dropships, five Orca heavy transports, six Tolomanides marine assault shuttles, one Hephaestus class mobile refinery, ten MOVeRs, four RAVEN electronic intelligence ELINT craft, and one stealth shuttle.

The centerpiece of the ship was the supercomputer L.I.T.T.L.E. A.L.I.C.E. MKIII, the Logistics Interface Terminal & Tactical Liaison Emphasizer, Autonomic Logical Intelligence & Controls Evaluator.

Only he is worthy of life and freedom, who goes to war for them every day

–Johann Wolfgang Goethe

B lack flags grew big bellied in the gusting winds and lightning crackled on the horizon of an alien world, igniting the ashen sky like a gravure of winter, casting the sprawling shadows of titanic warships across the sensual curves of the endless sands. Somber thunderclouds rolled across the churning skies only to be disemboweled by the sudden plunge in temperature. Thin, disgusting rain began to tap across helmets of warriors standing in legion as the cold descended by and by with Kalkhasa’s twilight and the silence of a graveyard permeated the tense air of warmongering.

Thousands stood in wait under the rain and howling currents, their eyes fixed on a stage protruding from a massive spaceport installation as dark as hell’s gate towering above the vast military assembly area with the glittering skyline of a glorious city sprawling on the horizon far beyond the ochre dunes. Lightning suddenly split the sky again and disgorged a thunderous roar as shivers reverberated through the hearts of warriors who had seen more than mortal minds could bear.

They were all there, the entire Third Army, waiting for the fate in store for them in this seemingly endless war. Suddenly, gazes rose as a flash of lightning cast the silhouette of a lonesome figure walking across the stage like a lone wolf coming to greet the fruitless moon with his mournful howls. This was the playback of every campaign’s start, triumphant or catastrophic.

Protracted and deep like the mournful howl of a desert flute in the hands of a lonely Dervish weeping atop a dune in the final hours of sundown amidst the desert winds, the late-motif of a sundry atmosphere descended as the black cloak fluttered playfully in the frosty wind and onyx hair flowed akin to a river of cursed starlight behind the Grand Inquisitor himself, the autarch, the puppeteer of fates and egos.

It was him. His presence weighed heavily like an eternity upon a shackled demigod’s shoulders, his amber eyes burned like the fires of a furious mob in the dark of a Bartholomean Night, his heart struggled in the trenches of sorrow, and the expression on his pale visage spilled despair and hope interwoven into a millennial lace of the Scribe’s machinations.

Slow steps drove him forth with determination and patient fury as the mighty army below watched his every move. With the grace and mannerism of nobility incarnate, he stopped at the edge of his tribune before casting his eyes at the indomitable legions. The hope and will to fight for a better tomorrow in the eyes of the fearless warriors was nothing new for the puppeteer as he began his speech into the squalling wind, like a martyr proclaiming his epitaph for the apostles of his faith.

Brothers. Believe my words once more as you have always done. Blood shall be the ink of the coming days of history. Two and a half thousand years have led us to this moment and you shall lead the way again. But not towards another battle for priceless pearls of earth and water flailing in the darkness of the void from the Hraal Abyss to the Rift of K’tesh. No. Merchants of death, hear me now! She has been found! And the Word is within her! What we have sought through this war for generations has been found! Embrace the coming of the new dawn, for her name is Selene! And as she treads along her path of destiny penned by The Scribe into our embrace, on the blood of our forefathers, our sons and daughters, I swear to you, my brothers, the Aperturists shall burn beneath our never-tiring guns as we descend upon them with the purity and undeniable righteousness of our cause! Rise, like the black sun of Cyrrha, and cry out to the skies for honor and our home! For Sacred Doranaa! The end of the war is nigh!

The air itself shuddered like a blast wave as the sea of warriors erupted in the united voice of an entire nation tormented by centuries of conflict and undying hope. But the Grand Inquisitor’s enthusiasm was not as fiery as he watched the wet flags waving far below like glitters on a windy sea. His thoughts prowled the abyss of uncertainty and his eyes wandered in the distance, where amidst thunderclouds and spiderwebs of lightning the Third Fleet of Emancipation descended into the bosom of a titanic docking facility amidst the shifting sands to ferry the invasion force beyond the stars in search of a treasure born of time and The Scribe’s eternal pen.

A faint nod of self–approval convinced the adamant Grand Inquisitor that he was righteous in his piety and faith as he left the army to its delirium and turned to face the murky depths of the hallway stretching like a monster’s maw behind him. All he sought was one final reassurance on the matter of the great enterprise and the towering, hairy hunchback standing before the puppeteer greeted his glance. Like master and slave, the two exchange feral looks until the Grand Inquisitor suddenly demanded in a voice as sweet as forbidden honey and as fierce as an awoken dragon’s breath.

I have finally found her, Ares. After all these years, I, Grand Inquisitor Araxus Ti’Verha’th Talara shall finally learn the Word and speed our kind into the new age of discovery, wonders and visions…

Naïve and blindly faithful to the master who had dragged him from the pits of blasphemy and dejection into the ranks of the guards of faith, the hunchback bowed his deformed snout and fixed his feline eyes upon the liege, offering his coarse reply.

To the Khram Tabwuiq! As foretold in the sacred writings of The Scribe. He, whose hand shapes all that is and naught.

Almost fearing to acknowledge the reality of his proximity to the instrument of his ascension, and knowing for certain that nothing could stand in his divine way, the puppeteer suddenly let out a heavy sigh and looked at the laboring skies. With far too much hanging by the thread of uncertainty and having invested too much in this endeavor at a heavy price, the Grand Inquisitor had no room for doubt left in his heart and whispered the final order like a hush against all voices clamoring for his blood.

Fortune favors those who seek it. And so we commence the journey of our destiny, for I too long for peace. But not at the expense of our defeat…

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CHAPTER 1

Let’s Go

July 7, 2157

11:13 GMT

Solar System

115 km in Earth orbit.

M arcus! Give it back! Major! Marcus won’t give me back my hairclip!

Hell itself could not conjure as much fury as that which erupted from the eyes of Lieutenant Selene Ross. As a member of the RNSN’s 37th Wing/ 2nd Space Division/ 14th Tactical Fighter Squadron, the twenty–one year old was beside herself as she reached over her seat’s backrest and tried to wrestle her little gadget from a playful young man’s hands.

But just as the girl with chestnut hair clumsily rolled her thighs in the seat for a better attack position, the granite voice of Hunter Squadron’s leader crackled like a thunderbolt from the front seats.

Marcus! Behave or it’s my boot up your ass! Not two minutes without an incident with you! Not two goddamn minutes!

Major%20Volkov.jpg

Tired of giving orders to the insubordinate young officer who had tested his metal throughout training, Major Vladimir Volkov closed his eyes and tried to calm the twitching in his scarred upper lip. As the Major folded his arms and regained the feeling of comfort in the front row seats of the shuttle, Lieutenant Marcus Willows’ playful answer echoed from the back rows.

Yes, sir! Idling down all fun systems!

A hellion by spirit, and with a scar across his left eye and cheek to prove it, there was little Marcus could do but obey the Major’s order as he flung the confiscated hairclip over Selene’s seat into her lap. Restricted yet again from exercising his hyperactive nature, Marcus ran his fingers through his short hair and banged his forehead against the porthole to behold the mesmerizing view that stretched outside the speeding shuttle.

Even the Earth’s northern curvature in its entire post–apocalyptic splendor was not enough to keep Marcus’ attention for very long as he rolled his head away from the porthole and began to wonder whether the ride would ever end. But a delightful reprieve from the long monotony suddenly arrived when the kind voice of another young man sounded from behind in a genuinely disappointed tone.

Not to be a nudge, Marcus, but you’re such a child sometimes.

Delighted by the fact that his nine months of service were about to begin and the opportunity of seeing the wonders of the universe awaited him, Lieutenant Victor Mahone kept his bright blue eyes pointed solely at the glorious vista outside the porthole. At twenty three and in the grips of youth’s parade of countless promises, he had every hope to live for and snuggled in his seat, wondering where he would begin his work practice after the end of his mandatory nine month military service, in which he had the choice of branches in the armed forces, like every citizen of the RN. But even the symphony of the Solar System playing over humanity’s cradle reflecting in his eyes could not rival the pummeling blizzard of drowsing thoughts in Victor’s mind about the gorgeous girl sitting merely three seats in front of him.

While Marcus banged his head against the headrest in rhythm to the psychedelic rock tune playing in his head, and Selene scraped her teeth together from the annoying tapping of his knee against the back of her seat, the voice of the shuttle’s pilot resounded through the passenger bay via loudspeaker.

Attention, passengers, we are getting ready for landing.

Having pronounced his first phrase in a French accent reeking of eighteenth century syphilitic mannerism and heavy nights of drinking, Captain Lorent Dupont switched off the internal channel and yawned like an awakening cat. Tired of his career and eager to get back into his bunk for long hours of sleep after the intrusive assignment of ferrying some greenhorn recruits, the pilot raised his eyes at the windshield and saw the enormous vessel blocking the sun in front of him like an eclipse.

Regardless of the inspiration cast on all who saw her, Dupont was already accustomed to seeing the Solitude as he inserted her frequency code into the comms relay on the console and pronounced.

Solitude Control, this is Bucephalus 08, requesting landing clearance.

A few tense moments later, the radio crackled to life and a crystal clear frequency responded in the landing coordinator’s disembodied voice.

Roger that, Bucephalus, we have you on sensors. Transmit clearance codes.

Mired by the dull routine of his job, Captain Lorent coughed as if to express his irritation and reported, pulling his seat closer to the main helm controls.

Roger that, Control, transmitting clearance codes now.

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Eager to impress his trainer, the young cadet at the secondary helm station instantly typed the code into the luminous console and waited to see any sign of approval from Captain Dupont in vain. Half a minute later, the radio static resumed and quickly switched to the anonymous coordinator’s tired voice once more.

Bucephalus, this is Solitude Control, codes accepted. You have permission to land in Hangar 2. Transmitting course telemetry.

With sleepy eyes and making a sincere effort to stay focused, Captain Dupont nodded, confirming to himself that he was seen as a friendly on the mothership’s IFF and replied in kind before switching the channel offline.

Confirmed, Control. Plotting course. Bearing 78 by 65 degrees. Beginning landing checks. Extending all flaps and drive fins, stabilizers and dampeners at 100%. Entering final approach loop…You lazy ass, deadbeat motherfuckers.

The Bucephalus was high above the blue planet, her shimmering coat of pearly clouds reflecting across the departing craft’s underbelly in flows of molten silver. But the cold steel was mute to the beauty of our world as the shuttle kept climbing through the endless void of stratosphere after leaving Phoenix Arizona Spaceport.

Flaps and drive fins wheezed from their stabilizer housings and the shuttle roared her engines, glowing like amethysts at the push of a handle from her highly experienced Captain. Gliding gently through the vacuum of space under the distant flickers of the star-studded void and the rays of sunlight, which playfully dashed over her grey paintjob like rabbits on spring meadows, the Bucephalus was on approach to more than just the Solitude, but destiny itself.

There was no question who was master in Earth’s orbit as the Solitude was in full view in her entire splendor like a bride in ravishing attire standing at the altar of the world, the entire universe open before her in its entire glory and horror.

In an age when technology and its possibilities had opened a new dimension of understanding for humanity, technology had taken the ancient place of religion and its creations had become the embodiment of God, magic and divinity. And as a masterpiece of human engineering, which transcended thought and deed, the Solitude lay with her cavernous bays illuminated like wells of light pouring from heaven, while the bridge towered over the AAA-bristled surface like a Cyclops.

None who saw the Solitude remained untouched by the aura of majesty and might that her lean shape conveyed like a scroll telling of technological breakthroughs, challenges and potential. The impression of the gargantuan vessel did not go unnoticed by the hero of this saga as she looked through her porthole and did not even notice the fog she had breathed on the glass.

Seated in the Bucephalus’ bleak, military style salon, skeptical of anything that had not proven itself, Selene could not believe that the colossal bucket of bolts would take her beyond the stars and give her all the things she was eager to experience during her nine months of service. The young girl had every right to doubt the unproven stratocarrier and fall short of believing that it would keep her and her dreams safe from the ravages of the last frontier, which had already proven to be more merciless than any that had been conquered by her kind before.

Untouched by the otherworldly forces that had long penned her fate and destiny spanning through the void past wonders and mysteries perfectly preserved amidst the stars and hidden from view of the young human race fresh out of the hubris of creation and rebirth from the brink of self-annihilation, like a feeble sapling thrashed by the cooing winter winds, Selene stared into the vast unknown through the porthole with eyes as innocent as a virgin star. And as she watched the distant Orion nebula’s mark sprawling in the dark like the veil of a desert dancer in the throes of nightly passion, the young girl had begun to realize that every atom of her body was once nursed within a star itself, and that she herself was little more than stardust pondering its own existence – a young thought made flesh.

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But while the young mechanical systems engineer wiped the fogging on the porthole with her finger in pondering, the shuttle suddenly made a sharp maneuver to starboard and swung over the Solitude’s port bow’s sponsoons. Razor sharp in his every move, a highly experienced veteran of the last war, Captain Dupont glided his steel steed so close to the majestic vessel’s plating that the awestruck passengers for a moment believed they could reach out and touch it.

The youngster pilots gasped in heart thumping trepidation during this feat of flying, but their attention was instantly consumed by the intricacy of the Solitude’s construction as her twenty two meter thick, honeycomb patterned ceramic plating glittered like the sea in the waxing hours of dawn. But even the state of the art plating could not match the impression that the vista of the vessel’s spine adorned by a row of eight GACs suddenly cast into the young pilots’ hearts, like an embodiment of mute testimony to the might of the RNSN.

While the youngsters remained in dumbstruck silence at the peaceful monster, bits and pieces of metal left over from the RNSN’s construction and frozen human waste bags began to bounce off the Bucephalus’ fuselage like a hail as she made her final starboard turn to face the gaping hangar that was to be her stable. The landing gear roared into action with playful enthusiasm deep from within the shuttle’s bowels. With just about a hundred meters from the landing deck, Captain Dupont released the helm to allow the ship’s onboard Automated Landing System to perform the dangerous task. Rows of nauseating lights flashed on either side of the hangar as the Bucephalus entered the Solitude’s artificial gravity field and crossed the shimmering azure of the ionic shield that kept the vacuum outside from permeating.

Feeling a bit dizzy from the sudden excitement pumped throughout her body by her madly beating heart, Selene feasted on every single detail as the impressions of monumental architecture and design challenged her sense of scale and the visions she had about technology as a mechanical systems engineer. But despite the visions that began to permeate her imagination at the sight of the hangar’s grandeur, all she could think of was ending her tour just to return to her home and family, which she had already begun to sorely miss.

Steam began to billow from outside the cockpit windows as though from an erupting geyser and the shuttle’s six bogeys touched the deck with an unpleasant screech, releasing pressure from the Icarus class shuttle’s high impact absorbing hydraulics. Moments later, with its brakes grating against the disks, the craft finally came to a complete stop and her stabilizers powered down with a mournful whirr, merging into the hum from the dying engines.

Bored to the point of excruciation by his monotone assignment that was too far from the danger he was used to in the close insertion sorties in the wastes of Pakistan, Captain Dupont rolled his eyes and initiated the main valve release mechanism draining procedure almost by reflex to get rid of his nugget pilot cargo. The hydraulics inside the passenger bay hissed like a ball of mating snakes and swiftly lowered the main ramp.

With the exit’s rolling steam and welcoming lights pouring into the salon, the passengers realized that it was time to disembark at their new place of service, which they hoped to turn into the venue of a routine of merciless time assassination.

Having eased his tense muscles and prepared himself for the responsibilities he was about to shoulder the moment he left the shuttle, Major Volkov picked up his deep blue rucksack and turned to the pilots he had trained himself. Though they were allegedly the best in the Academy, the elite of the young RNSN, they seemed far too excited for the Major as he watched them check their straps and get ready to leave their seats as if for a joyride. But for Volkov, service aboard the Solitude was a serious test for his new rank as he firmly locked his arms behind his back like a warlord and addressed the squadron in an iron tone forged by combat.

Listen! This is it! Our home for the next nine months. We will meet the command staff now and you had better be on your best behavior. Ain’t that right Marcus?

Humiliated by yet another insinuation at his loose attitude that plagued his free spirited nature, Marcus smiled and lowered his head, staring at the gleaming blackness of his boots before responding like a toddler who had just concealed a pile of excrement under the carpet.

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Yes, sir. Absolutely, unequivocally.

Unimpressed by the response from his promising pilot, Major Volkov drove a ferociously demanding look across the kids he was fantasizing of riding hard like untamed horses and sternly asked.

What about the rest of you?

Having learned through their first encounter with Volkov to be impeccable in their statures, the youngsters instantly thumped their heels together as one, billowed their chests forward and proclaimed.

Sir, yes, sir!

Pleased to hear the obedience he had succeeded in instilling in the human capital of space exploration, Volkov nodded like a sadistic drill Sergeant and clobbered together an answer from the unimpressive array of words in his vocabulary.

Good. Follow me.

With his fingers crossed and praying that Marcus would not wander away at the sight of any female officers in the bay, Volkov led his troop down the ramp, like Aegeans across the ashes of Troy under the rhythmic thumping of their boots.

The experience of setting foot onto the deck of humanity’s most impressive military vessel was overpowering for all four members of the squad. The illumination of the hangar suddenly poured over them like the lights of a glamorous stage show. But one must think of the feelings gripping the heart of the young girl in that tiny group of pilots as they marched across the deck under the scouring glances of the surrounding crewmen and the humbling grandness of the intricate structure spanning around them like the royal hall of technology. It was difficult to place one’s soul in the boots of our heroine, Lieutenant Selene Ross, and think for a moment of how her emotions as she looked around and realized that the specificity of her consciousness and individuality was suddenly lost amidst the massive beams and bulkheads.

But like a spoiled girl from an aristocratic family, Selene could not lose herself in her imaginations and visions as her eyes darted over her surroundings, giving food to her thoughts and fueling her will to find her heart’s desire amidst the mounds of steel on a surreal star trek. Despite the surrounding glitz and glamour of humanity’s ascent into the age of space–faring, one thing still forced Selene’s stare to prance continuously over her left shoulder and gave her the impression that she had become addicted to the act.

Young and full of fantasies with a single purpose, Selene could not stop stealing glimpses of the young Lieutenant walking next to her. His bright, blue eyes attracted her attention like a magnet. With her heart beating more from the coy excitement of being next to Victor than the surrounding majesty of the vessel’s hangar, she did not think of where she was, and the Major’s back acted more like a beacon that she followed without even realizing it. And though Selene did not want to admit it to herself, the faint smile on her cherry lips betrayed her denial about feeling attracted to the young man she had known for years.

While Selene argued with herself in the grips of the sudden and violent possibility that the object of her desire was walking next to her, very similar feelings were burning in the young man’s heart, unbeknownst to her. Trying his best to avoid the seductive temptation of locking stares with the girl’s glittering eyes, Victor stayed true to his modest nature and tried not to sweat from the searing heat of discomfort that breathed out of his collar.

Time had already proven that no matter how many times Selene had tried to awkwardly entice him, it always ended in abrupt and uncomfortable dead ends. And as witness of the perpetually stalled and invisible relationship, Marcus watched it unfold again as he walked after the two and rolled his eyes with frustration about the lack of concrete action.

But now, in the embrace of the mighty warship and on the same squadron, Selene believed she would have all the time in the world to spin her web of charms around Victor and glue him to herself for all intents and purposes. As a cunning and very smart girl trained by her insidious mother, Selene did not take the nine month deployment before her release from the Navy as something serious. Instead, she saw it as an ultimate investment that could be used to find out once and for all if Victor was The One for her.

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His handsome looks, quiet character and kindness were legendary and the envy amongst other females in the Academy to whom he had never shown anything more than indifference. But as a strict judge of character, Selene was convinced that she would be able to twist him around her finger under the correct conditions and use her gorgeous looks without remorse. Even as she shared many nights alongside her female companions during training, Selene did not try to hide her conviction that she was a predator with zealous belief that Victor was nothing more than raw material in need of molding, and she had the wits to do it, and do it right.

Violently battling her will to be a little more perverse while trying to murder her conservative upbringing and nurturing a desire to become a simple girl, Selene was still in the stage of waiting for her knight in shining armor as imagined through the gauze of youthful romanticism, and Victor was the closest thing to that knight she had come across, even if he did not know it yet and the only snow white goodly steed he had ever sat on was the toilet.

But Selene could not have been more wrong about Victor. She had no idea about the secret inferno of feelings he had born for her these last few years and feared to reveal. And as awkward as it might have seemed to any independent observer, Victor tried to catch reciprocal glimpses of Selene as she walked beside him in her graceful strut and brandished her stunning figure like a goddess worthy of eternal worship that the hot–blooded man inside of him could not resist.

Selene’s heart beat like a fusion reactor on runaway burn and she tried desperately to control her breathing. Confined like a stretch of anomalous space inside her ribcage, her heart labored to keep her neurotic anxiety from bursting forth, even as it was brazenly displayed in her ravishing smile.

But Selene’s dreamful staring at the busy bay full of rolling trucks and armored vehicles was suddenly swept away when a commanding voice drenched in British dryness, like gin martini, forced her to stop and behold the father of the crew.

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Welcome aboard!

A pair of deep brown eyes smacked onto the wrinkled features of an old space wolf stared at the pilots as the group stopped in front of the imposing, gaunt figure of Commodore Augustus Rottingham. Clad in the black and beige uniform of the RNSN with a black beret over his silvery hair, the commanding officer of human fleet’s flagship instantly made the impression of the perfect man for the job and gave Selene a reason to hold her breath in awe.

As a veteran of every war in the last four decades, the sixty eight year old Commodore did not try to give the impression of a tyrant to the new additions to his crew as he traversed his all–consuming glance over them like an artist in search of imperfections. Having satisfied his curiosity and silently appreciated Lieutenant Ross’ stunning looks, Rottingham took a deep breath and looked at Major Volkov expectantly.

More excited than his youngsters to have the chance of standing in front of the most influential space commander in the RNSN, the Major sharply lowered his hand like a machine and pronounced with the utmost dignity.

Major Volkov of Hunter Squadron, reporting for duty, Commodore! This is the rest of my squad, sir. Lieutenants Victor Mahone, Selene Ross and Marcus Willows.

Impressed by Rottingham’s posture and the undeniable aura of command that seemed to permeate the air around him like thick perfume, the youngsters graced their new Commander with crisp salutes. Though the Commodore did not always place much essence on the banalities of military conduct, he still reciprocated in kind with a gesture of military respect befitting the honorable conduct of a true officer. But as a Commander who sought nothing but the best from his subordinates, Rottingham was simply trying to make a positive impression on his new officers and chewed his cheeks like a tired bulldog before responding in a blunt voice.

Welcome, welcome. No doubts in my mind that you will make a fine and very important addition to our little merry band of space vagabonds. Now, I suggest you familiarize yourselves with the ship, officers. That will be all. Dismissed.

After a nod of approval from Major Volkov, who was still the prime teacher and leader in their eyes, the pilots grabbed their rucksacks and headed straight for the massive blast doors on the hangar’s port bulkhead.

As the pilots’ backs disappeared amidst the wandering crewmen and the rolling trucks laden with supplies, Rottingham stepped closer to Major Volkov. After serving under many commanders and having thousands of officers serve under his command, the Commodore saw himself akin to a meat grinder of the fleet’s multitude of characters. The trait of being an excellent judge of character was one that Rottingham prided himself on. A skill he had perfected during decadent social dinners. And he had no qualms about making his thoughts known as he looked into the Major’s eyes like an interrogator in a dark room with a question.

Major. Our navy is very young. What is your opinion on having such young souls at the helms of advanced fighter craft? Reckless, perhaps? Still, maybe it is just my humble opinion.

Though somewhat offended and feeling his pride being brutalized by the insinuation that he was a bad teacher, Major Volkov knew that there was no point in arguing about the credibility and reliability of his pilots without proof of their worth. Nonetheless, as a man who had his own character forged in the cockpit of a Grizzly bomber over Pakistan, he locked eyes with his commanding officer and made his argument clear.

I will place my reputation on the line for these kids, sir. I trained them myself. My experience and training is the blood in their veins now.

Impressed by the Major’s confidence in such a regular flock of nuggets which did not stand out from any other that he had seen roaming the Solitude’s hangars, Commodore Rottingham raised his eyebrow like a skillful thespian and calmly replied.

I’m well aware of your distinguished reputation, Major, but would you be willing to vouch for these children without proof of their worth? Placing our lives in such young hands?

The wish to make his position clear from the start and to instill the confidence of battle experience about himself and the young pilots made Volkov raise his chin with pride and immediately reply.

Yes, I would, sir. They are the future.

Surprised by the Major’s fanatical loyalty to his convictions, Rottingham nodded and bit his lower lip before whispering the fear that injected doses of doubt into his mind about everyone under his command.

I hope you are right, because we depart in one hour for an uncertain region. Though our presence in Andromeda is growing, the threat of terrorist activity is still very real. There is no room for overconfidence, Major. Dismissed.

Despite the obscene amount of profanities that tumbled in his mind like dirty laundry in a heap, Major Volkov straightened his posture and accepted the dismissal without a single comment.

As the Major walked away and the general buzzing of the busy hangar replaced the momentary void of sound in Rottingham’s mind, a voice he had become only too familiar with suddenly resounded from behind him.

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Commodore? Is something wrong?

Omniscient and seemingly omnipresent throughout the ship, like a stalking warden, Colonel Haggis McDirk appeared within three feet of his commanding officer’s right shoulder. The piggish eyes that never stopped prancing like tennis balls did little to distract the attention of anyone who conversed with the fifty year old Colonel. His broken nose, sparse moustache and greedy goatee made up the main features of the rectangular face of the Solitude’s second in command imbued with undying hatred for the English, Irish, Welsh, Scots and other Scots, and humans in general.

Serving on the Solitude was the materialization of a dream that Haggis had waited for after serving for years in the desert wastes of Afghanistan as an attaché of the RNSN, endowed with the tedious task of directing orbital bombardment strikes. Though the assignment to the battlecarrier had already proven to be a far more rewarding experience, the mere thought of serving under an Englishman who was on the brink of senility in his eyes was the only drawback that McDirk faced in his new existence. But as a bright officer with great ambitions and an impressive service record, he swallowed his pride and listened to Rottingham’s solemn reply.

Somehow, Haggis, I think our future truly is in the hands of those kids. And that girl of yours, especially.

While the Commodore started to elaborate on his petty beliefs about the future of humanity and bored the Colonel with metaphysical discussions, the young pilots were joined by their Major and headed in silence along the seemingly endless corridor on the Solitude’s port side. Though the briefing about the general layout of the ship, which they were given back on Earth several hours before departure, was not very detailed, it did provide them with a direct path to their new quarters.

The heavy footsteps of the small group resonated like war drums across the hallways. They thumped over the patterned floor panels underneath the bright neon lights and fed their curiosity by looking down every branching corridor, where dozens of compartments lay sealed to unauthorized personnel. But the monotony of the surroundings dominated by grey metal panels and bundles of cables interwoven with networks of pipes visible through the mesh plates along the ceiling quickly bored the youngsters. Fortunately, their destination soon appeared at the end of the hall.

Built adjacent to a large staircase that ran through seven decks like a major artery, a large elevator’s door served as a beacon to the new arrivals. With great enthusiasm about the change of scenery and excited to settle into their new quarters, the group quickened their pace and the Major led the charge towards the doors.

A quick pass of the specialized keycard by Major Volkov authorized him to the elevator and the large doors slid apart with a not unpleasant hiss.

The spacious cabin welcomed Selene alongside her comrades and she instantly felt the excitement of her first impressions fading until a sudden brush against her shoulder made her rethink everything she had begun to expect from a boring elevator ride. The warmth of Victor’s hand was like the panacea of a sleeping cat in her lap as she felt his touch even through the uniform and unwillingly looked up to catch another glimpse of the sensation’s creator.

But what Selene anticipated as yet another stolen glance of the young man’s face suddenly turned into a heart thumping stare as their looks interlaced. For a single moment, the entire ship and everyone around her faded into a world of urban grey as the two stared at one another.

There was no matching the sensation that both suffered like a bane of frozen moves and self–restricting thoughts, until the passing of time suddenly shattered the dam that Selene had built inside her head and forced her to imagine that nothing had happened. And as the doors slid shut before her and the Major’s frustrated muttering in Russian followed his press of the 22nd Deck’s button on the panel, Selene silently exhaled, feeling Victor’s equally excited breath.

While Selene scrutinized every moment of the encounter in her mind from every feminine angle, the elevator suddenly activated its magnetic levitation mechanism and soared upward.

The ride ended as quickly as it had begun when the elevator decelerated with a noticeable hum and the doors slid open to reveal another nearly identical corridor. As the Major and Marcus stepped out of the cabin like shadows shifting along the floor, Selene smelled the wake of Victor’s faint perfume when he walked past her, making it seem as though the look they shared had passed unnoticed.

Left alone in the elevator and fearing that the doors would suddenly close shut, Selene straightened her heavy rucksack and stepped out into the brightly lit hallway. The unremarkable features of the Solitude’s internal architecture instantly gave her the impression that she would eventually get lost if she ever wandered away from her designated area as she looked around and scoffed at the blandness of the designers’ tastes.

But the disorientation quickly passed as Selene saw a large yellow decal on the wall pointing down an adjacent corridor to the 200 series of quarters. It wasn’t long before Selene started looking from side to side and reading the tags on the doors while listening to the echo of her footsteps before finally finding her cubicle with the number 213 on it.

Like a shank through a convict’s belly, the keycard slid through the slot and the gloomy grey Sesame of shadows opened up before her, revealing the Lieutenant’s domicile. Less than enthusiastic at the sight of her new room, Selene drew a deep breath and walked in, feeling the world shrink into a pinhead around her.

The quarters were some of the better ones onboard the ship, even if they weren’t very impressive as a mass produced building block in the Solitude’s immense puzzle. The three by three meters quarters consisted of little more than three neon lights on the ceiling, a single rotating chair, a table built into the wall with a closet adjacent to it, a low bed with a net hung over it and a Central Information Computer opposite the door, next to a tiny cubicle for showers and bodily necessities.

It quickly became apparent to Selene that in the minds of the designers, all a human being needed onboard humanity’s most advanced military vessel was the Spartan set of furnishings she was looking at. She knew that the Solitude wasn’t a luxury liner, but she would have appreciated a window to behold the breathtaking views. And Selene longed to see all that the Andromeda Galaxy had to offer after reading so much about its fascinating colonization efforts.

The hunger for something new, an adventure and an irresistible urge to finally find someone worthy of herself was what had driven Selene to join the RNSN. And now, finally honored with being the very first female to sit at the helm of humanity’s most advanced starfighter, her heart raced with anticipation and impatience for soaring amidst the distant stars and reveling in the awesome beauty of every nebula, every bowing shockwave from every dying pulsar, of finally realizing her personal potential.

But, apparently, a window was too much to ask for as Selene exhaled after scrutinizing her cold confines devoid of a feminine touch and tossed her rucksack onto the bed without any regard for manners. The door slid shut behind her and the central computer suddenly came to life with the rotating, circumflexed star insignia of the ship on it as a screensaver. But Selene did not care to notice or even fiddle with it on her first day and dismissed the introductory mumble of the recording while starting to sift through her thoughts in search of her next move.

After standing motionless for a few seconds, she noticed that there was no light switch and that the lamps were operated by motion sensors, which gave the room a redeeming sense of privacy in her eyes. Under the ghoulish white light, which gave her the impression of being in a public bathroom, Selene finally decided to arrange her belongings and sat on the bleak bed to unplug her rucksack. Reaching down into its bowels, she ruffled amidst the forcibly stuffed masses of clean linen and priceless junk before pulling out a photo of her with her family in their home garden in the Rocky Mountains, where so many good memories had been left behind. With great care and a sprawling smile that hid her desire to weep like a little girl, Selene stood up and carefully placed the wooden framed photo in a corner of the table at such an angle that would make it visible from her bed.

Though she had made grand plans for her room, they seemed to fade as though they had never existed the moment the quintessential, priceless item graced it with its essence of familiarity. Simply having a small image of her family was all Selene needed, a reminder that she had to return at any cost. With that small addition, the quarters did not seem so inhumane anymore and were no longer simply a prefabricated brick in a titanic jigsaw puzzle. The room had become a living, breathing cell, touched by human emotion and had acquired a sense of purpose in Selene’s eyes as she sat on the bed and smiled at her handiwork.

Having settled her emotional urges to rest, Selene was just about to start pulling out her things when the startling whooshing sound of the door opening made her turn around to see the invader of her privacy. It was Marcus, standing at the door with the familiar smile that made Selene feel as though a compliment was on the way every time she saw it.

Marcus’ reputation as an admirer of the female form and one who never censored what he was thinking was well known throughout the Academy and Selene never felt much desire to befriend him. From the moment she saw him two years earlier upon enrolling into the Academy, she had formulated her negative impression about Marcus, mostly because of the somewhat lewd remarks about her appearance that he continually whispered to some of his likeminded comrades. Nonetheless, Marcus did not mind the small inadequacies of his character in the eyes of others and even reveled in the glory of embracing his imperfections as he squinted like a fox at his long standing object of affection and proclaimed.

The Major is waiting! It’s time to claim our rides! Let’s go, darling!

Ignoring Marcus’ smile, which carried more meaning than simple politeness, Selene watched him step back from the door before heading for it herself. With little desire to speak to him, she walked out with a thankful smile and avoided his stalking gaze to see where her next destination would be. The way forward quickly became clear as the Major’s instantly recognizable, massive silhouette, resembling a Neanderthal bred with a mammoth, loomed at the end of the hallway.

Volkov and the rest of the squadron waited by an elevator that would lead them to their ultimate workstations on the first hangar deck. Like the obedient, exemplary officer she was, Selene brushed away the flowing wave of gorgeous chestnut hair off her forehead and directed her steps towards her comrades.

Crammed into the brightly lit