Galactic Passages: Requisite Bandits

By Dean

After destroying the Muudia Portal passage and saving their home worlds, the newly assembled V-357 crew are faced with many dangers from inside and outside their ship. As they search for the true passage home, the crew struggles to sustain their just mission despite becoming the most-wanted criminals in a new dimension. Along the way, the science given them before their journey is proven to be faulty. The hope of ever seeing their homes again becomes fractured at a foundational level. Through creativity and friends in unexpected places, the V-357 crew press forward; only because they can't go back. Their harrowing journey draws them ever-closer to a mysterious being more powerful than they've ever experienced or imagine!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Christian Faith Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Jan 13, 2021
• ISBN: 9781642997125

Book preview

Chapter 1

Safe Stronghold

Commander Yougsten Brell’s penetrating blue eyes studied the surroundings. He looked through the bridge shield. Initiate concealment mode. Increase throttles to full speed ahead when able.

As he gave the order, the bawling infantile sun portal behind them clarified there was no going back. The V-357 would be everyone’s new home for as long as the journey would take them.

Jetting from the scrap area ASAP was priority number one for the moment. It would soon crawl with vengeful Sonarians. There was no need to tempt fate any further. The crew had been through quite a mixer, surviving extreme radiation, temperatures, and pressures of the gamma bomb detonation. The V-357 showed she was up to virtually any challenge. Surviving the fervid blast gave them supreme trust in her.

Every deck of the ’357 was examined for deterioration. They were intact. There were minimal damages to be found among the space craft housed in the bays. Most important, there were no crew casualties, vastly different from the enemy. Evidence of unsuspecting Sonarian victims surrounded them in mangled, glowing Docker warships; a jaw-dropping display of devastation!

Flash, barroom, wham!

A Docker reached critical mass and exploded right in front of the carrier, smashing against the bridge shield.

Whoa! A startled CJ jerked back in reflex. He shielded his brown eyes against the light, before turning beet red in humiliation.

Brell responded, Keep on your toes, CJ.

The commander got on the intercom and ordered an update from every section of the ship.

The crew bustled about the carrier making sure everyone was okay. Soon every squadron reported 100 percent PAR (personnel accountability report). They were recovering from the effects of their shotgun sprint through the portal. The crew became absorbed in reconstitution work, because they couldn’t linger in the area for long.

Bweep, bip bip, bweep!

Commander Brell contacted the reaching technology section, on the top rear of the vessel. He ordered his lead scientist, Pnoi Nbnok, to investigate the critical area and report back immediately with his findings.

In the lab, Nbnok was hunched over taking readings from the mainframe science computer. The circumstances diminished the ship’s technology.

Bweep, bip bip, bweep! Warning, depart area to prevent FOD [foreign object debris] impact. Warning, depart area to prevent radiation damage.

Turn off that confounded machine! Ordered Brell from the bridge.

Nbnok’s voice whined through the speaker, Working on it, Commander.

Nbnok did a thorough check on all the systems in the lab. He thumbed through the manual, and finally disarmed the audible tones. Red lights still flashed, but at least it was quiet. Soon the scientist was lost in his work, oblivious to everything except system checks and results. Forscher was active within the lab, intent on making the dumb humans understand they needed to escape the asteroid belt.

Then, another computer filled the lab with audible evaluations.

Attention ignorant life beings. The ship is in immediate danger.

Famlende Forsøk was considered an important component to the carrier’s ability to map the cosmos. In theory, it would send real-time information from the rocket probes to the lab through Expanse Probe Reports, (EPRs). The program had so many flaws, it had one person assigned to it. Lieutenant Oliote Larse was put in charge of the Famlende Forsøk program. His dream of an easy assignment was dashed right away.

The pesky cybernetic filled the lab with negativity. Heads-up. Urgent message. No data to report. You must launch probes immediately to determine the situation.

It should’ve been impossible for an emotionless robot to sound panicky, but Famlende Forsøk pulled it off.

Bright flashes from the program irritated Nbnok’s retinas, penetrating his brain.

Nbnok cried, Turn that blasted thing off, Larse!

Working on it. Larse was frantically searching through manuals and scratching his balding head. He was trying to find a way to quiet the robot voice. The cumbersome officer’s hefty frame seemed to work against him in the rush.

Wake up and pay attention! No data to report. Must launch probes-. Whiiine.

Larse wiped the sweat from his brow. Enough already, Famlende Forsøk. Pipe down.

The ’357 needed to get into deep space before it could accurately calculate the universe. Interference was prohibiting the scanners from working correctly. Conditions had to be perfect before they’d launch the probes, but the debris field was dead set against them.

Bang, ricochet, shudder, shake!

The ship was caught in a brutal hailstorm, moving in a powerful flow of dynamic radiated energy. The toxic current took the ’357 further out from the crimson portal, moving the ship side to side as she fought to hold true bearing.

Solar flares and smoldering Dockers beat against the hull, affecting the navigation systems. The mass of material was traveling at a high rate of speed, held together in a glob that offered no immediate escape for the V-357. All they could do for the time being was go with the flow.

The activity forced Nbnok away from the array of diagnostic screens, into the turbulent scene surrounding the vessel. Technology was his baby, but he’d have to rely on natural sight to get a true bearing on the situation.

As Nbnok looked out the porthole at the path of the vessel, he was horrified by what he saw all around them. Thousands of Sonarian Dockers were in various stages of destruction, littering the ergosphere into the vast horizon. The scientist left for the bridge where Commander Brell had immediate access to him.

He called to his first assistant Lieutenant Rn’ia on the way out, You have control of the lab. See if you can stop the flashing. We have to figure out how to escape the slipstream. I’ll contact you as soon as we can launch the Expanse probes.

Rn’ia pushed aside dark hair and adjusted her spotless glasses. Sure thing, Sir.

Nbnok had quite a distance to travel to the bridge from the lab at the back of the ship. He went as fast as his bent frame would allow. As a research scientist, Nbnok was comfortable bending over staring at screens. Mad dashes were not his forte.

The scientist’s cerulean eyes were lost in thought as he focused on his destination. The corridors were an example of unrestrained imagination, intended to showcase Raihan wealth and power in every detail.

The V-357 was divided into many main sections intended for municipal purposes, interconnected by large corridors. The critical areas included the reaching technology section, engineering, dorms, fighter stalls, maintenance bays, common areas, and infirmary. There were three vertical connectors within the main body of the vessel. Nbnok passed each one as he made his trek to the bridge.

The scientist didn’t see a slight figure prancing in his direction. Chase was ecstatic to have his stomach back. He raced full throttle through the corridors, complaining to whoever would give him a kind word or a pat. The two were on a collision course. Swerve! The cat juked his way around the preoccupied man and continued down the corridor.

Meeoorrraaawww!

The gray lynx complained, as if to ask, Who gave you the right of way?

Nbnok passed many vital areas, mystery sections of the ship. Four zones with high clearance designation were the security forces area, engine room, weapons storage, and the bomb bay. Unknown to Nbnok, he was the focus of a lanky blue-eyed, brown-haired, teen observer.

Strider Willstreak was busy setting up shop in the vacated gamma bomb bay, which he’d planned from the outset of the mission. The space offered everything he needed to be happy. There were connections intended for diagnostic testing, which ensured him accessibility to all the technological equipment he would ever need or desire.

Most of all, the vacant bay provided him with the solitude he relished. Willstreak could be at one with the ship in the location; seeing everything while answering to no one. A small viewing port gave the teen a lookout into the corridor to see if anyone was coming, and the airlock allowed him an exterior view of space. Strider wasted no time setting up his boy-cave.

Willstreak desired to know the ship intimately. He didn’t feel a need for complicated social interaction among other crew members. Out among the crew he was being encouraged to express himself at every turn, especially by his uncle Rander. Three times a day is good enough; breakfast, lunch and supper, he thought to himself as he organized his new room.

The teenager used the scientist as a target to check the capabilities of his new lair. Strider followed Nbnok’s path through the ship’s security cameras, as he scurried down the corridors on the way to the bridge.

Clunk, crash, vibrate!

As Nbnok ambled along, the ship shuddered like a large boat carving a path through rough seas during a squall. He knew they were passing through a Sonarian graveyard, but also that there’d be hazardous surprises beyond the outer rim of Dockers. Nbnok picked up his pace, desperate to reach the bridge in time to talk to Commander Brell and General Seraden.

Monumental decisions had to be made. They needed instant input, which was impossible with the computers acting up.

Chapter 2

Escape Plan Put on Hold

Nbnok rushed onto the bridge, out of breath. Commander, our equipment is getting fried. We need to break free from the thermal draft soon.

The scientist was greeted with a piercing cobalt stare, What do you suggest, Nbnok?

Slow our speed, divert our power to the shields while I research for the best route through. According to my calculations, the energy flowing from the event horizon is the shape of a funnel that widens out as it escapes into the cosmos. If we keep going with the flow away from the source, we’re standing still in terms of space time fabric. All we’re doing by going forward is extending our time in the hazard zone.

Nbnok put a hand on his aching back and waited for a response.

So, your theory is to go out the side of the funnel?

No, Commander. We’d never escape the radiation. The current is pushing out away from the portal. It’s acting like a vacuum, sucking up light, energy, and matter; growing as it escapes into the cosmos. We’d never outrun the velocity dispersion before we perish. I believe we have to turn about and head straight for the event horizon, escaping at an acute angle as we enter the ergosphere. It’s the only way to leave the thermal energy behind.

Brell raised an eyebrow, If the energy flow is so strong, how will we turn about?

Sigh! Nbnok was impatient because they were losing time. He tried to explain the situation to Brell in the easiest terms. Think of a boat turning to go upstream. You can do it, but the current takes you further down the river as you maneuver. In our situation, further down the river means farther from the safe shore. The longer we wait, the more trouble we’re in.

I understand. The shields won’t hold out for long in these conditions. Do your calculations quick, Nbnok.

Commander Brell amended his first order to quarter speed under full shields, to prevent FOD from the Sonarian wreckages damaging the ship. There was no clear path through the mangled warships. The V-357 shuddered with every impact on the shields.

Soon, Nbnok had a course plotted. Got it, Commander. We need to bring the ship about one hundred and eighty degrees. We’ll head straight for the event horizon for 10,000 kilometers. He double-checked his notes. I think we’ll be okay. Our shields are strongest in the front, because there’s less surface area to protect. At the 10,000-kilometer mark, we’ll head thirty degrees starboard from zero. When we hit the evacuation point, we’ll hit maximum thrust and cut through like an arrow going through paper.

CJ’s dusty brown mop flopped comically when he shook his head no. I don’t like it. The closer we get to that thing, the faster our systems will fail.

I believe it’s a risk we have to take. Staying on our current course, or trying to escape sideways through the jumble will kill us too.

The commander looked intently at the two as the wheels turned in his head. He trusted the scientist’s instincts.

Brell turned to Nbnok, Okay, do it. CJ, bring the ship about.

Yes, Commander. CJ’s cracking voice indicated he wasn’t hopeful as he navigated the turn.

Lurch, rap, sway, jerk, shake!

The unnatural motion of the ship caused everyone concern until it was going straight upstream.

Ram, clatter, bang!

Sonarian Dockers exploded against the V-357 as she tried to right herself against the energy flow!

Automated emergency systems kicked on. Forscher Computer called to them again, Warning, depart area to prevent FOD impact. Warning, depart area to prevent radiation damage.

Brell’s eyes narrowed. Thirty degrees starboard. Full speed ahead. I hope you’re right, Nbnok.

Rumble, varoom!

The ship struggled against the portal’s fury for four hours.

Forscher narrated a doom script to the crew, Radiation levels rising to critical levels. Shields declining to 48 percent. Depart area immediately.

Whine, judder!

Commander, the gauges are moving into the red.

Brell gritted his teeth, Keep it going, CJ.

The ship fought hard through the storm.

Tumble, roll!

The giant carrier was tossed about like a leaf in a thunderstorm. There was a landmark for CJ to aim for; the deadly event horizon of the portal.

Forscher spat out another prophecy, "Incalculable force and velocity will have an irreversible effect on the ship’s systems within 45 minutes."

It was too soon to put the ’357 through new stress after the detonation. But they had no choice. The mission was just starting, and they were subjecting it to pounding environments. The carrier was in danger of deteriorating before they got a foothold on the mission.

Finally, they hit the mark. 30 degrees starboard in ten seconds. Nine, eight, seven...

Bash, shake, crunch!

...six, five, four...

Flash, wallop!

...three, two, one. Go.

Stretch, wham!

The V-357 staggered against the force, but held course. After ramming forward at maximum speed, the carrier finally broke free from the current.

The last layer of the hazard zone was like stretched cellophane, fighting against the ship until the last second. She finally broke through the barrier’s radiated venom.

The scientists’ calculations were spot on. Any less than 30 degrees and they’d have to fight against impossible odds to get out of the cone in time. Any more, they’d be pushed sideways by the flow, where the shields were more vulnerable.

As they progressed from the hazard area, mangled Dockers were becoming intermixed with intact vessels. Many warships flashed on and off ominously as they tried to recover life-support systems. They appeared as accusing ghosts to the ’357 crew.

The horrified crew stood motionless, whispering as they peered from the viewports. It would be irreverent if they made gaudy gestures toward dying men in failing ships. They’d won the victory against the Sonarian fleet without firing a shot. The effortless destruction made them feel malicious.

The crew started what had been defined by General Krevety as a just mission, saving hundreds of worlds from Sonarian wrath and dominance. But at the moment they were the warmongers.

Once we get free of the wreckage zone, we’ll send out the Expanse probes as quickly as possible so we know what we’re in for, said Commander Brell in a somber tone.

As soon as the commander spoke the words, his eyes caught General Seraden. Calling the Sonarian vessels wreckage was suddenly callous. He wished he’d found a better word for it.

Brell stepped closer to General Seraden and asked in an empathetic tone, Are you all right, General?

Seraden didn’t respond, but was immersed in thought as he looked out and studied the sporadic flashing of the smashed Dockers. The consequence of his decision to participate in the mission was hitting him like a ton of bricks. Seraden had helped them, but his deep remorse became obvious to everybody around him. Brell’s tunnel vision stupor dissipated as he observed the hurting general.

After several minutes of studying the ruined Dockers around them, Seraden retreated from the bridge into the adjoining conference room. Commander Brell sensed his distress and followed him.

Commander Brell addressed the Sonarian officer compassionately, Sir, how are you doing?

General Seraden looked at Brell as if he were a thousand miles away. His reddened watery eyes indicated he couldn’t express the depths of anguish inside. Seraden helped save millions of lives including Sonarians, but instantly obliterated thousands of his planetary kin in the process! Regardless of how corrupt the Sonarian intentions were, he couldn’t relieve the regret planted in his heart.

I just need time to be alone, he choked.

Sir, why don’t you stay here and rest for a while, offered Commander Brell. I’ll call you if we need you.

There was no verbal response—just a tearful nodding of the head.

With that, Commander Brell left the room and returned to the bridge. When he arrived, Onsan and Abbsnate joined him. The girl inquired about General Seraden.

He’ll be all right in time. We just have to keep him away from the bridge, where he’s besieged on all sides by his dying kinsman. Seraden knew helping us was the right thing to do, but it doesn’t make it any easier for him.

Abbsnate offered to counsel Seraden in the conference room. Her soft features and bright sapphire eyes always brought comfort with them, but it wasn’t the time. Commander Brell denied her request. Although her compassion and charm could do wonders for a person, the situation was different.

Time and space are what he needs now.

Let us know what we can do to help, responded Abbsnate, her voice dripping with concern.

The commander answered, "I believe he’s of no danger to himself or us. He wants to be left alone for now, because he has much to sort through in his mind. Once we escape this graveyard, we’ll all be better off. At that time, General Seraden will be invaluable to our mission."

According to our scanners, we’re about half-way through the fleet, Commander, replied Onsan on cue from over CJ’s shoulder. On the outer edge of the threat zone, some vessels are intact with possible survivors. There are a growing number of steady lights aboard many of the docking ships.

Sir, you’d better look at this, stated Nbnok as he stared keenly into the bridge shield. We’re 160 kilometers from the outer edge; but there’s evidence of Sonarian survivors in the outlying vessels. We should know how many in a matter of minutes.

CJ interjected a logical conclusion about what they were seeing. The enormous fleet was gathered and waiting for everyone to assemble here before it invaded Raihan. Countless ships were still en route, on the outer limits when the detonation occurred. Their shields weren’t raised, because there was no need for them. No one would’ve attacked such a large force.

Nbnok filled in the rest of the story, While the proximal vessels were obliterated, time and distance provided minimal shielding for the others. Still, the outer ships were irreparably damaged by the high-energy radiation. They’re in dire need of assistance before the life-support systems fail.

Commander Brell contacted the ship’s library, Tobor, I need you at the bridge immediately to record our surroundings.

On my way, Commander.

Torridge Tobor donned his spectacles, grabbed his computer tablet, and headed for the bridge. He was diminutive physically, but intellectually the man was a giant. Torridge Tobor had medium-length black hair, dark eyes, and a black mustache that went over the corners of his mouth. A hint of silver in his hair stood out like a badge of wisdom.

He was Doctor Fana Tobor’s husband, a historian and teacher. He’d been the preeminent scrivener of the planetary family legacies for the underground resistance on Raihan. He was an important element aboard the ’357. As the elder-statesman, Tobor would help guide the young crew during the voyage.

Tobor was transcribing all the segments of information he’d secretly accumulated for years into the mainframe of the ship’s computer. Whenever a crewmember wanted to learn about his heritage, Torridge Tobor would assist him.

Commander Brell wanted to use the scribe’s skills to record the important activities during the journey from a historical perspective. The journal would provide a detailed account of the mission to better explain their purpose to new worlds when needed, or an official document to defend themselves in court if necessary. Brell hoped Tobor’s account of their adventures would accompany them home someday.

Chapter 3

Sonarian Survivors Discovered

Commander Brell ordered the spacecraft to slow when they reached the outlying ships. The V-357 was suddenly surrounded by a horde of war ships with positive indications of survival. The Dockers were damaged too badly to deploy their Crusaders but sound enough to support life for the moment.

As the ’357 crew examined the surroundings; they saw chaotic rustling inside dimly lit ships. Sonarian crews fought to repair the Dockers and defend themselves. The crew was amazed how anyone could survive the torment without proper preparation for the detonation.

Commander Brell summoned those around him for advice, "What are their best chances of long-term survival?"

If they were far enough out from the blast, life-support systems can sustain for a time.

Brell asked, How long?

Colonel Honassen raised his palms to the ceiling. The bomb detonation battered the recharging systems. It’s like being stuck in a collapsed mine shaft. There’s a cruel timetable working against them. Communication capabilities and self-activating systems are likely irreparable. Whatever oxygen they have left in their ships will be gone when the reserve supplies are used up.

Doctor Fana Tobor’s medical opinion was also pessimistic, "Long-term survival is doubtful without our help. They’re feeling a high-degree of concussive effects, blindness, and second or third-degree burns from the blast. Their situation will cause them to use up more oxygen as their bodies deal with the effects of stress. They’re running out of time. Without our assistance, they’ll all perish."

The V-357 crew faced a moral dilemma. It had potential to bolster confidence in the integrity of the mission, or do just the opposite. If they turned a blind eye to the suffering surrounding them, Commander Brell knew they’d be no better than their enemies. Throngs of savable Sonarians would lose their lives agonizingly, while they looked the other way. It would affect the long-term mindset of the crew.

But the alternative carried risks. If they stayed to offer assistance, a new fleet of angry Sonarians would soon bear down on them with murderous intentions.

Captain Reg Piktkas sneered as he verbalized his concerns, "Commander, we’re on the clock now. We should be on our way, or this will be a very short mission!" His handsome features accented a delight of knowing he could’ve made a better decision. Piktkas couldn’t hide his emotions; he enjoyed seeing Brell in a tough spot.

Commander Brell frowned at Piktkas for a second, then walked over to the inter-ship communicator to make an announcement.

Attention, V-357 crew. You all can see what surrounds our ship. There’s no denying our enemies are no longer capable of hostility against us. They’ll die before their comrades can help them. This mission began as an honorable venture to save the worlds of two dimensions from unknown terrors. We’re going to do everything in our power to ensure it continues as a just mission. We’ll give aid to our enemies for as long as it’s safe for us to remain.

Piktkas threw up his hands, Really, Commander‽

Brell glared at Piktkas as he continued, If we start off this mission by ignoring the suffering of those around us, then we’re no better than they are. Therefore, we’ll stay here for as long as we’re able to render aid before moving on.

Torridge Tobor lowered his spectacles as he watched the exchange between the two men. The scribe nodded in agreement as he recorded the commander’s oration word-for-word on his tablet.

Brell didn’t have to call General Seraden to the bridge before his announcement.

The Sonarian was on his way immediately when he felt the ship suspend its forward momentum. The ship-wide communiqué was completed by the time he’d reached the bridge.

The towering man nearly forgot to duck through the doorway in his excitement. His worried face was red, puffy around the eyes. He still looked half in a daze.

Commander Brell turned to Seraden for advice, General, we have an obligation to use the resources within our power to rescue your kinsmen trapped and dying in their degraded vessels. At the same time, if we stay too long, the chances of our survival will soon disappear at the hands of an advancing Sonarian battle fleet. According to Nbnok, we have about a day to work here before fleeing for our own safety. Does the timing sound right to you?

Seraden nodded, That sounds correct, Commander.

Any suggestions?

The general snapped back into the present. "They won’t diminish their ability to retaliate by rushing in. Sonarian ships entering the quadrant will wait until it’s deemed radiation-safe before advancing. Eighteen hours is the best we can do to avoid a confrontation. We have time, but not for rescue."

Seraden wiped his sweaty forehead with a tear-soiled handkerchief and continued, If we enter the Dockers to offer medical care, they’ll fight you till their last breath. Eliminating this crew would restore their sense of honor in battle.

The man carried guilt and tension in his shoulders, but his superior sense of honor outshone the stress he was feeling.

Thanks for the insight General, said Commander Brell.

Brell turned to his lead scientist, Will we suffer irreversible effects of radiation poisoning after 18 hours?

Nbnok addressed the radiation question with a logical answer. "The Raihan ships are extremely adept at resisting radiation. They expected to use these ships for countless harvesting missions. They’ve equipped them to ensure the safety of the inhabitants back and forth through the Muudia Portal. That’s why we rebounded so well after the detonation. The Raihan space suits offer maximum protection as well."

Good. Brell turned to ask his lead doctor for her advice.

Dr. Tobor’s brown eyes glimmered with thought as she responded, Some ships are broken beyond repair with life-support dwindling rapidly. We’d be wasting our time trying to help those who’ll die shortly anyway. But there’s no doubt by the look of the Dockers that some can be saved.

She continued, Perhaps we can’t board the Dockers. We can still help them sustain life and make it easier to identify the survivors. We could perform a medical triage on their ships. We’ll assess the vessels to determine the best survivor candidates. Then we’ll mark the exterior of the ships structurally sound enough to last until the others arrive.

Nbnok agreed, The radiation levels are high, but not near threshold limits to contaminate us. We have time to complete the triage rescue effort and send a situational message to the Essence ships closing in before we leave this zone.

The color returned to Seraden’s face. He liked the plan, The Essence ships will have a choice to make. They can follow us, or stay here to help their comrades. They’re scientists like me. Surely they’ll choose to continue the rescue effort.

Commander Brell replied, "It’s settled then. We’ll stay to triage the vessels for 18 hours before we make our