The Arwen: Manifest Destiny: The Arwen, #2

By Timothy P. Callahan

Embark on a gripping odyssey through the cosmos in "The Handlers," a race of formidable centipede-like aliens whose relentless ambition is nothing short of eradicating all intelligent life across the universe. Each Handler boasts a lifespan surpassing that of most suns, residing within countless trillions of their kind nestled within Dyson Spheres strewn across the vastness of the galaxy.

Amidst this cosmic tapestry of danger, the valiant crew of the Arwen, under the stalwart leadership of Captain Marjorie Cook, unwittingly encounters one of these insidious beings while navigating the uncharted depths of space. Faced with an imminent threat to Earth's safety, Captain Cook must confront an unfathomable challenge, requiring her to make unparalleled sacrifices in a daring bid to safeguard humanity from the insidious grasp of the Handlers.

Join Captain Cook and her intrepid crew on a heart-pounding quest as they traverse the stars, where the fate of worlds hangs in the balance. In a race against time and an adversary of unimaginable power, witness the resilience, sacrifice, and unwavering determination of those who dare to defy the cosmic forces seeking to extinguish intelligent life as we know it

• Language: English
• Publisher: Timothy P. Callahan
• Release date: Dec 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223828389

Book preview

The Arwen: Manifest Destiny

by

Timothy P. Callahan

* * * * *

PUBLISHED BY:

Timothy P. Callahan

The Arwen: Manifest Destony

Copyright © 2011 by Timothy P. Callahan

For more information, please visit www.timothypcallahan.com

Chapter one

Captain Marjorie Cook, hero during the Gyssyc war, Captain of the most decorated ship in the Corps, a woman with countless articles written about her courage under the worst of circumstances, stood in a lecture hall and tried not to hyperventilate. The backstage did her no favors in calming her racing heart. Around her were several discarded props from either cheaply produced plays or cheaply produced presentations. Some sort of foam rubber tree leaned against the grey brick wall. To her left was a small hologram projector stacked on top of a pile of data-pads. Next to that was a rolled-up flat screen computer, when unrolled, it would be bigger than the curtain on the stage. The red rug beneath her feet was worn down to the wooden floor. She wondered if it had ever been replaced in the school’s 300 plus year history.

The speaker on the other side of the curtain, a scientist who was explaining something about supernovas and dark matter, sounded as if he were wrapping up. With a shaky hand, she held up her data pad and looked through her notes for the three hundredth time. They were no different than the last time she spoke, and probably wouldn’t change the next time she spoke; but seeing the familiar words distracted her enough to calm her nerves.

Captain Cook wore a dark-blue  jacket with a wrinkle-proof material that highlighted the many medals she wore over her left breast. Most of the awards she received simply because she was lucky enough to survive a battle. Her white pants made her hips seem wider than she would have liked, and she could only imagine what they did to her rump. She made sure to wear the white gloves given to her a few weeks ago at some sort of tribute ceremony. She had been to so many of them over the past three months, that she’d forgotten exactly where she got them from; she just knew they made her hands look nice by hiding the ever darkening liver spots.

She heard some polite applause from the other side of the dark blue curtain. The speaker before her had finished. She felt the electric shock of nervous energy shoot through her body before settling onto her stomach. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. She focused on a calming image: her sitting in her Captain’s chair during an easy shift, reading a novel while the crew around her worked happily. No worries. No orders. Just her and her crew working in the everyday. It could be boring, but boring was sometimes nice. It calmed her.

You are Captain Cook, correct?

She opened her eyes to see a tall man standing in front of her. He wore a suede brown suit with a neat bow tie. He was older than she was, maybe in his late 70s or early 80s. He wore a pair of skinny glasses, an artifact that had been out of date a hundred years before he could have even been born. Everything about him told her he was old school, set in his ways, someone who didn’t care about how he presented himself. Behind his eyes, she saw an intelligence that, quite frankly, intimidated her. Yes. 

Hmm, he said looking her over.

What?  She asked, wondering what he was looking at. People dismissed her because of her height, because of her age, because she was a woman in a field still dominated by men. Marjorie sometimes felt she needed to work twice as hard as men just to get to the same place they occupied.

You seem nervous.

I’m not great at public speaking, she replied, pushing some of her graying hair behind her ear, a habit she got into when she was younger.

Ah, it’s nothing,  he said, with a dismissive wave. No different than running a ship I’m sure. It’s an honor to meet you. I've been reading up on your adventures for some time now. I have to admit, I only took this speaking engagement because I heard you were going to be here as well.

This was something Marjorie still hadn’t gotten used to. People thought they knew more about her than she was comfortable with. She’d always been a popular figure that would occasionally be recognized on the streets, but after the wars, she became  something of a celebrity. Thank you, Professor?

Professor James Pine.

Professor Pine, thank you.

I know you need to go out there, the crowd is waiting for you; but I was wondering if after your talk, we could get some coffee. I’d love to talk about your adventures.

Marjorie couldn’t help but smile. This wasn’t the first man to ask her out since she got back to Earth. The first time it happened, she didn’t know how to react, didn’t know a good way to say no. Now she had gotten very good at it. No, thank you Professor Pine. After this, I need to head back to the Arwen; then I’m off on another mission.

Ah, he replied, without a hint of disappointment. If you ever come back to Penn State, please look me up. We can have our coffee then.

It’s a deal Professor Pine.  She held her hand out and he shook it. She watched as he walked away, leaving her once again alone, waiting to give her talk.

A blond woman poked her head through the curtain and asked, Captain Cook, are you ready?

Marjorie nodded a yes and then took a deep breath. Her heart raced as if she were about to drive the Arwen herself into the sun. She closed her eyes again and tried to picture the bridge of her ship, the same image that had calmed her earlier wasn’t working this time, and she eventually gave up.

The woman introduced Marjorie. She single-handedly destroyed a star base without losing one crew member. She discovered the Gyssyc comet and saved the planet of Regal from destruction. She led the assault on Merriam and saved Ulliam from his tyranny. Her bold plan and leadership saved us all from a combined armada of warships who were hell-bent on killing every human and Ulliam in known space. It would take me hours to rattle off all the metals and awards she’s been given over her 35 years of service protecting us from hostile aliens. It is an honor to welcome her to Penn State. Ladies and Gentlemen, Captain Marjorie Cook!

She parted the curtain and stood there for a moment, looking out into the crowd. It was a packed house of about three hundred young people. Lights mounted above blinded her for a moment as she walked up to the podium. The cheering embarrassed and yet thrilled her at the same time. She stood there, nodding her head in acknowledgment, and one by one, the audience stood. She continued to smile and waited for them to stop. It seemed to last forever, but eventually the cheers subsided and everything got quiet. She leaned closer to the microphone. Thank you for coming and thank you that wonderful reception. She never got used to the echo a large silent room made. Hers was the only voice being heard by the group. She’s made announcements over the speaker of the Arwen, but she never had to hear what she sounded like. Her publicist convinced her to take some voice lessons. The only thing it helped her with was getting rid of her slight northeastern accent.

She placed the data pad on the podium. All she needed to do was look at the first line to remember the speech. She talked for a good twenty minutes, each word practiced a hundred times before being perfected through dozens of speaking engagements. As she moved from city to city and from college to college, she thought of more things to add. Her first few speaking engagements were quick. It wasn’t until about the third month in before she noticed that each engagement lasted longer. Her publicist said that was okay, as most of the people had paid to hear her talk; and the more she gave them, the more they could charge.

She finished the way she regularly did, by saying in a cheerful voice, It’s not always a glamorous life out there. Sometimes I get so bored I wonder why I’m there, but there are other times, times when I’m looking onto a new world, or facing down a new enemy, that I know I’ve found my place. Maybe one day you’ll find yours too. Thank you. I’ll now open the floor for any questions.

Marjorie stood there, waiting for the people to line up in front of a microphone. The faces were so young that she felt a bit guilty for trying to take them away from their lives and into a new, dangerous world; but they were rebuilding, and the young men and women standing before her were the future.

The first question was from a smallish woman who shyly told Marjorie she was her hero and would follow her into the corps. She didn’t really have a question and instead talked about how inspirational Marjorie was. When she was finished, Marjorie said, Thank you dear, I hope to see you in the fleet when you graduate. 

Marjorie had noticed the next man a few moments earlier, and had hoped he wouldn’t have time to ask any questions. He held in his left hand a data-pad, which he held up as if wanting her to see what was on the tiny screen. He had the look of a denier, the self-proclaimed group of people who questioned pretty much everything the Corps did. She tried not to stereotype the man, but most deniers she knew, or had read about, wore the same kinds of clothes. Black shirt, black jeans with a white, logoless, baseball cap on his head, turned backwards of course. She suspected it was a conscious attempt of the deniers to form a collective, and this look was their uniform. Marjorie braced herself, and knew she was about to be asked a question she would have to dance around to answer. He cleared his throat and held up the data pad. Is it true that we haven’t been told everything about the ‘impending destruction’ of Ulliam?  That the planet is in more dire straits than we have been led to believe and, instead of it plunging into the sun in a hundred standard years, it will plunge into the sun in less than twenty?

Marjorie cleared her throat and replied the way she did every time she was asked this question. When Ulliam’s moon was destroyed during the war, it caused an unpredictable chain reaction. Our first calculation said it would take a few thousand years, then that was reduced to a few hundred once we understood the orbital changes better. It wouldn’t surprise me if you found a different figure or a different timetable. It seems most scientists have a theory and a different timetable for Ulliam’s destruction. However, the official Corps estimate is about four hundred and twenty three standard years.

The reply seemed to surprise him. Marjorie quickly tagged him as an amateur, someone who probably read all the literature, maybe even attended a few meetings, but never actually had to confront someone of authority. They briefed her on these kinds of zealots. The best way to appease them was to tell them the truth, or at least a version of the truth that was Corps approved.

He looked at his data pad. The person behind him tapped him on his shoulder, trying nicely to tell him to move. The man held his hand up and said, Where do you get your information?  The Corps?  Your supervisors?  How do I know you’re not just toting the message like a good soldier?

I get all my information from Professor Theo Ricter, the lead scientist of finding a way to stabilize Ulliam’s orbit. He works very closely with both Ulliam and Gyssyc professionals.

If there was one thing no one could argue against, it was Professor Theo Ricter’s word. He’d gained a reputation for telling the truth no matter how bad the news was. He had no allegiance to anyone other than himself. He didn’t care nor worry about what others thought of him and his ideas. He was a man known for his integrity. He was also Captain Cook’s most trusted friend. It was a relationship well known to everyone, apparently even to this man, because all he did was nod and walk away.

She answered questions for the next hour before no one had anything else to ask. She once again thanked everyone, bowed, saluted, and then left the stage. Exhaustion overcame her when she disappeared behind the curtain. She had to lean against a table to catch her breath. It was always like that when she finished, as if all the nervous energy she had bottled up during the talking released itself all at once.

*****

Marjorie always loved taking the maglift train. She looked out the window, lost in her thoughts. Now that most of the world's foods was grown on farms in orbit, the landscapes around the cities opened for massive expansion. With a growing population, aliens’ moving to Earth, and the human lifespan averaging 120 years, space was at a premium. She wasn’t even close to a large city, and yet she could easily see large steel towers that housed thousands of people along with all the basic facilities that allowed them to live. It was only half a joke when someone would say you could live your entire life in one of those buildings and have all your needs taken care of. Marjorie had never lived on one, but she did visit a few when she was younger. The memories were mostly pleasant, spending time with her grandparents; but a few weren’t so great, and she shook those memories from her mind.

Her data-pad beeped. It was stuck inside the pocket of her uniform and she struggled to pull it out. When she looked at the message, she smiled. It was from Professor Ricter. She hadn’t heard from him in over six months. Her smile faded when she realized he was probably contacting her to ask her for a favor. That seemed to be how their friendship worked after he was assigned to the Ulliam Moon project. She opened the message and his scowling face appeared on the screen. She noticed he looked older and a bit heavier. His face had a fullness to it she hadn’t ever seen. Had he given up working out? She knew he studied some martial arts in his spare time and would try to run at least a mile every morning. His hair was also a thinner and grey. It was impeccably styled and looked good, but there was some definite thinning that wasn’t there the last time she saw him. He had on a very nice and probably expensive suit and tie. On his lapel, he wore one of the civilian metals he had won after the Gyssyc war. She recognized it was from the Ulliam government.

He looked up at the camera and started speaking. A few weeks ago while doing a sweep of the sky, we detected a powerful magnetic pulse. At first, we thought it was from a star; but when we studied the evidence, we discovered it was from a planet. After some further scanning, we discovered this might be the planet we’re looking for. It’s got the right density, the right size, and is too close to the parent star to sustain any life. Of course, our instruments can’t tell us all we need to know, so we need to get to that planet to study it. I’m asking permission to take the Arwen, and since you haven’t refused my past requests, I’m going to assume you won’t refuse this one. 

She sat back and laid the data-pad on her lap. The Professor always requested the Arwen for his trips, and the Corps always let him borrow it. The higher ups knew about her relationship with him, and they knew about his relationship with most other Captains. She was the only one who got along with him, so it was natural they would pair them up whenever he requested it.

Her data-pad beeped again. She looked at it, saw who the message was from, and shook her head. She opened the message and a different looking Professor Ricter appeared on the screen. He was wearing a lab coat this time and his face wasn’t nearly as serious. His hair wasn’t as grey as it was before, and she wondered if he had dyed it. His face, however, was even fuller than the last message. Marjorie, I’m sure you got the message I sent the Corps. I sent that a few months ago, not knowing the Arwen was in dry dock being upgraded. They were going to give me another ship, but I declined and decided to wait for the Arwen. As I’m sure you know, breaking in a new Captain is hard and very time consuming.

Marjorie rolled her eyes and laughed at the remark. It was a very old, private joke between the two of them. He’d made it a hundred times, and yet it still made her laugh when he said it. He continued. The good news is that extra time gave me a chance to study the planet further. Our first reports suggested it was too close to the parent star to support any life, however as more data came in, it appears the planet is cooler than we first thought. We also detected a massive ocean so large, that the entire planet might be covered in water. Warm planet plus lots of water could equal life, so we need to bring a biologist along with us. Normally, I wouldn’t even bother to tell you who is on my team, but you’d want to know that I chose Doctor Fran Lipton to accompany me.

Marjorie paused the message. Of course he’d pick Fran; she was very good at what she did and the Professor had worked with her many times in the past. But, she and Fran had a long history that was defined by a single moment. The moment Captain Cook ordered Kel, her former second in command before being promoted to Captain, and Fran’s husband, into a battle he had no chance of winning. It needed to be done. She needed his ship to provide cover for the Arwen while she attacked the Gyssyc ship. It wasn’t just him that she ordered to their deaths; it was a few dozen captains. Fran blamed the Captain for his death. It would be difficult to see her again.

She turned the message back on and let him continue. As always, I look forward catching up with your adventures. I’ve seen you on the net a few times, mostly as a consultant, with a few interviews here and there; and I have to say, you look good. One day we’ll have to be on the same panel discussing our mutual exploits, but until then, we’ll have to keep those conversations private. Also, I know your birthday will have passed by the time you get here, so I’ll be sure to have a nice gift waiting when you arrive. I’m looking forward to seeing you again Marjorie.  The image faded, leaving behind an icon-filled desktop screen.

My birthday, Marjorie thought. God, I forgot about my birthday. 56 years old, old enough to retire, old enough to start a second career. She shook her head and closed her eyes. No, this was going to be her one and only job; fate had seen to that.

Chapter two

The mega city came about by accident. As the nations of the world slowly moved to global unity through trade, better communication, and the always present threat from an alien invader, more people migrated from rural areas into the cities. Cities all over the world were forced to grow outward, absorbing the suburbs until they touched the boundaries of their closest neighbors. The first mega city happened in California, when San Francisco, Oakland, Sacramento, and San Jose decided they would merge to form the city of Sunshine. Los Angeles soon followed by merging with San Diego to form the city of Los Angeles Prime, a name San Diego is still trying to change.

The world’s largest merge happened on the East coast of America, where Boston, New York, Trenton, Philadelphia, Dover, Wilmington, Baltimore, and Washington merged. When the merger finished and the new city needed a name, someone, a bitter Senator from Virginia who wanted Annapolis and Richmond to be part of the merger, yelled out, Why not just call it the God Damn capital of the world!  And the name, Capital City or simply The Capital, stuck.

Marjorie flew her shuttle over the Capital City and looked down in awe. She’s seen a lot of things in her days, most of them beautiful natural phenomenon, but seeing what her race could accomplish astounded her to no end. No star field she had ever witnessed was as dense as the large cluster of lights that glowed from the surface as the day passed easily into the night. She watched as night’s shadow raced across Asia and into Europe. She was low enough to see grey patches where the cities were laid out across the surface.

The David Bowman was the largest space port ever built, and was located at a lag range point where the Earth and Moon’s gravity cancel each other out. Its size was mammoth and could easily be seen from Earth with a very low power telescope or a simple pair of binoculars. It was one of the few space ports that survived the Gyssyc attack.

The station itself was a large tube, about fifteen miles from top to bottom, and around 10 miles in circumference. Several hundred spokes jutted out from the surface and were attached to large cage-like structures. Inside the cages were the ships being repaired, built, or taken apart for scrap. It was easy to see thousands of sparks from welding torches flicker in and out of existence.

Marjorie moved her shuttle behind several dozen other crafts waiting to dock. The shuttles in front of her moved forward at incredible speeds. Some would bank sharply to the right or to the left, while others would shoot up or down. A few continued forward and pulled to the side where they waited. She inched her way toward the front, watching the dance play out in front of her. Once she was the first in line, the computer took over. Within less than a second, it connected to the David Bowman’s computer, gave it the destination, and got a confirmation. The shuttle then took off on a predetermined route toward The Arwen. Marjorie was no longer in control; it was all automated from here.

Normally, she oversaw the repairs of her ship; but when the Corps asked her to do another speaking tour, she really had no other choice than to put Commander Pippleton in command. He was a fine commander and she trusted him as much as she trusted anyone who worked as her second. She paused, remembering her lost friends.

The Arwen was a Tolkien class battle cruiser. It was cone shaped with a pointed tip at the front and a set of nine massive engines, each stacked in rows of three, in the back. The ship was coated in a reflective skin, which provided camouflage by reflecting the stars back toward the observer as well as deflecting almost ninety percent of any energy beams harmlessly into space. The armor plating was designed to slide away to reveal the massive firepower they hid. Each section had four missile silos surrounding an energy cannon that could unleash powerful  energy beams, enough to slice through the armor of any weaker ship. Properly armed the Arwen could easily handle any attack. It was a large ship with a crew complement of over 2,000 people.

She activated the radio and said, This is Captain Marjorie Cook asking permission to come onboard.

She got the reply back almost right away. Captain Cook, this is Commander Pippleton, permission granted. Looking forward to seeing you on the deck and showing you around. I think you’ll love what we’ve done here.

I’m sure I will Commander. Captain Cook, out.

******

Commander Pippleton ‘s Ulliam face did not allow him to frown; instead, he let his dissatisfaction with his appearance show in his shoulders, which hunched up slightly before falling down, as if being dropped by an invisible hand. This wasn’t the first time he realized he would never look good in a Corps uniform, no matter how many tailors they sent him. It really wasn’t their fault; the Ulliam were never built to wear clothing. When the humans made first contact with the Ulliam, they were shocked to see those that greeted them were totally nude. It never even really occurred to the Ulliam of that time to wear clothes. They wore armor during times of war, but other than that, covering their bodies seemed useless.

Like almost everything else, the views of the Ulliam changed the more they got to know their Earthly friends. The Ulliam were very easily influenced by outside sources. It was in their blood to want to please. An artifact of their heritage, one that Commander Pippleton did his best to suppress; but even he had to admit when he was asked to do something by the Captain, he went as far as he could to please her. He guessed it was no different than other crew members, but given his heritage and the fact the Ulliam were bred as a slave race by the Gyssyc, he felt extra sensitive about how that appeared. He wanted to be treated as an equal, he wanted other humans to look at him and not see an Ulliam who wanted to please, but as a Corps officer who was doing his duty. He was proud of the uniform he wore. Being the first Ulliam officer in the Corps was not a position he took lightly.

The Ulliam were short, stocky creatures with thick, badly wrinkled gray hides. In a battle, it was hard to take an Ulliam down with just one shot, and in most cases, it took three or four to do the job. Ulliam heads were situated between two high shoulder blades, making it look as if they were in the middle of a permanent shrug. Their shoulders were as expressive as a human’s face, and often displayed emotions in subtle movements. The Commander decided it was the shoulders that always made him look silly wearing human uniforms.

He walked out of his room and down the hallway of the Arwen. Everything was polished to perfection. The grey bulkheads gleamed bright as light from the newly installed system shined on them. The red carpet had been cleaned three times before he gave the crew the okay. The crew members he passed all saluted him diligently, their uniforms pressed and cleaned on an order from him. He felt pride in his work here, and he worked hard to get the Arwen up and running since the Captain left.

As he approached the hanger, he started to see the band members he had commissioned waiting for him outside. Of the over 2,000 crew, he could only find about 100 who could play instruments. Of them, he found 40 who played them well enough to become part of that welcoming home ceremony. He passed trumpet, drum, trombone, flute, and clarinet players. In front of them were the tubas, the bass, and violin section. It was a nice complement of players, another thing he was happy about.

He stood in front of them, then placing his arms behind his back, Okay, the Captain’s shuttle is landing in a few minutes. I want you all to be ready to file out the second we get the all clear. I have told the pilots to wait for my command before letting the Captain leave. Let’s give her the welcome she deserves.

So they waited outside in the hallway. Occasionally, one of the shining brass instruments would touch the wall, giving a loud or a soft clang, depending on the instrument. A few of the flutists blew air into their flutes to keep them warm. The trombone player was moving the slide back and forth to a tune that must have been playing inside his head. He had his eyes closed and was tapping his foot to some silent rhythm. Perhaps it was the waiting, but to the Commander, it felt as if it was taking longer for the shuttle to land than normal.

Finally, he got word that the shuttle had landed and it was safe to enter the hanger. The door opened and, two by two, the band strutted out playing an old medley of Earth songs. He didn’t know the songs, but had been told that the first one was called ‘the Star-Spangled Banner.' The second ‘hail to the chief’ and the third ‘an ode to a Star Ship captain.’  The last one was relatively modern and was played whenever a new ship had been launched.

It was all noise to his ears, but he knew humans enjoyed the sound of a band playing. He held his hands up and the band stopped walking. He then traversed the remaining twenty feet and stood where the ramp to the shuttle would descend. He waited for that moment. The door opened, and a smiling Captain Cook stood at the top. She looked over at the band, folded her arms and nodded her head in time with the music. She waited for them to finish, and when they played the last note to the last song, she laughed then clapped. Well done!  Well done!   

She walked down the ramp to an awaiting Commander Pippleton. Welcome onboard, Captain, he said and saluted.

At ease, Commander, Captain Cook said, after returning the salute. That was some entrance. How long have you been planning it?

Not long, maybe a month or so. I knew you would be gone a while and I knew we had to welcome you back to your ship in a way befitting a highly decorated Captain.

This is wonderful Commander. I want you to give everyone involved, including yourself, an extra week of shore leave when we return from our mission.

Thank you, Captain.

Commander Pippleton dismissed the band and the two walked out of the hanger.

How have things been progressing?  Captain Cook asked. She seemed eager to cut to the chase; it was a trait the Commander liked in her.

Very well. I can’t wait for you to see the improvements we’ve made. I believe you’ll be impressed.

I’m just happy to be back.

The first thing you’d like to see will be the bridge. We have worked hard getting it ready for your return.

Have they worked on my office or the meeting rooms?

No, I believe those will be upgraded during our next stop. They have also started work on a new generator which will allow us to eventually carry one Gamma laser, which will have to be installed in a few years.

I don’t even want to think about the ensuing few years; I just want to live in the now. Commander have you had a chance to look over our latest mission?

Yes, I have!  He said excitingly. First, we are to pick up Professor Ricter from Ulliam. Once he and his team are onboard, we are to enter Wormhole space and set a course toward the Small Magellan Cloud. Between here and there, we are to come out of Wormhole space over a planet which the Professor wants to study.

Well, I’m glad to see you did your homework.

They stood outside the door to the bridge and opened it. Marjorie walked in and looked around, in awe at what she saw. It wasn’t just a renovation of the bridge. They had taken the entire old bridge apart and replaced it with a brand new one.

The Captain’s chair sat in the middle of the room. One large, circular computer screen hung from the ceiling and surrounded the chair which could spin around to view any part of the screen. The armrest of the chair had a lettered keyboard split between the two rests, right where Marjorie’s fingers would normally rest. It would be easy for her, once she learned the interface, to pull up any menu and any reading from any part of the ship.  

Each screen will provide you with a very high level of resolution from the new cameras located outside the ship,  Commander Pippleton said. You can call up any image, both from the exterior and the interior cameras. All the blind spots have been eliminated.

That’s great, Marjorie said. I always hated them.

Also, the new display will provide you with complete control of the bridge. With a few simple keyboard strokes, or, if you prefer, finger swipes on the screens themselves, you can view all the bridge computer readings. You can also take over a station if you need to. In fact, in a pinch, you can take over all the stations.

Well, let’s hope I never have to do that. If I’m controlling all the stations then something really major has gone wrong.

Indeed, the Commander replied, with a humor shrug. Also, each station can take over another station. Anyone below, with your authorization, can connect to another station.

So I take it that the new crew will be trained to operate any station on the bridge?

That is correct.

To Marjorie this was good news. There was nothing more frustrating than having your communications officer hurt with no replacement available to help. The bridge crew normally only trained to do the one thing they were assigned; they would rotate eventually, but when someone got proficient in their one specialty, they would move to another ship that needed that talent. After the war, the Corps decided the bridge crews needed to be flexible, and it was nice to see that policy in action.

This isn’t the most impressive part, Commander Pippleton said. Each camera is also slaved to the new hologram room. Would you like to see what we can do?

Sounds exciting. Lead the way, Commander.

******

Marjorie felt as if she were standing on an invisible platform while surrounded by a million stars. She looked around at the cage which surrounded the Arwen and could see hundreds of individual people, all in force fields, floating between the giant beams. To her right was an Earth half in shadow, half in light. The Sun was to the left of that and above her; she saw the moon.

The moon had taken a beating in the Gyssyc war. The bases which, in the past, covered the surface from horizon to horizon, lighting the moon like a humongous Christmas tree ornament, were gone. All she could see now were dark black scorch marks where they previously stood. The moon still had some bases, but it was nowhere near the peak they had once been. It would take decades to get back to that point.

Pretty impressive, isn’t it?  the Commander said, looking as if he and the control panel he stood behind were also floating in space.

How are we doing this?  she asked.

The computer is taking information from the cameras and combining them into one mosaic which the holograph room displays in real time.

This will be invaluable in combat, Marjorie said. One of the major problems with space combat was not being able to view the battle from all directions. Three dimensional fighting was as old as the first airplane, and they were taught to think of how a 360 degree battle should be fought, but until now, it seemed she could only see the battle like that in her mind. Now she could be in the middle, giving orders and maneuvering into a position not based on a hunch, but based on actual, real-time data. The thought sent a chill of excitement down her back. This was going to save lives.

It gets even better. In combat, all the ships’ cameras send information back to the flag ship. The computer can then combine all that information and create an even bigger picture of the battle. We can see the battle from the eyes of any ships inside the battle sphere, or even pull out from the sphere and see it from the outside. That, however, takes a lot of computer power and is only recommended for a ship not fighting in the battle.

Amazing, she said. What else can it do?

We can view in any wavelength. We can slave in scanning information and display it here. We can run scans from here. We can fire a probe and have the information from the probe displayed. Oh, and we can do this.  He ran his fingers over the computer screen and the image changed, from outside to inside the engine room. We can view any station as if we were there.

Private rooms don’t have this, do they?

No, only the main hallways, the engine room, the particle accelerator room, the bridge, the recreation areas, the computer labs, and all the gun and missile stations.

This is going to be a nice little toy to play with, Captain Cook said. Is there anything else you’d like to show me?

No, Captain, I believe that’s it for now. I’ll take you on a more detailed tour of the minor changes when we’re in wormhole space.

Good. Are we ready to head to Ulliam?

All repairs are done. The crew outside is simply doing a quick cleanup. We can be ready to leave within the hour. All you need to do is give the word.

Get the ship ready. We head off to Ulliam within the hour.  She gave a satisfied nod. A scientific mission with her old friend, and an Arwen which hasn’t been in this good a shape in a very long time. To her it seemed more like a vacation, and she was looking forward to the boredom.

Chapter three

Professor Ricter quickly discovered it was hard to find a good gift in the marketplaces of Ulliam. Most of them seemed to cater more toward tourists, but he eventually walked into a small shop and found something he hoped Marjorie would like. With the gift in hand, he walked up to the counter, placed his gift on the scanner, and paid for it. It was cheap, but he knew the Captain didn’t put any value in how much something costs; it was always the thought that counted.

He and the Captain had been through a lot together. When they first met, he thought of her as just another self-important Captain. It took some time, but after they faced several life-and-death  situations together, he saw in her someone he could depend on. She seemed to be the only person who trusted his word over his findings. She didn’t need any evidence when, three years ago, he told her he thought Ulliam would plunge into the sun. It was hard to find someone who he could not only trust to believe a theory like that, but to stand by you as you gathered the data to prove it right.

He walked out of the store and into the heat of an Ulliam summer. He looked up at the sun as it passed behind a cloud and frowned. How do you solve this problem?  How do you prevent a planet from falling into the sun?  The Gyssyc, who thousands of years ago faced the same problem, decided the best way was to place a large satellite moon close enough to the planet so that it pulled it away as it swung around the sun. Eventually, that stabilized the orbit of Ulliam. The planet, the moon, and the sun were in perfect synch and would have continued to be had it not been for the Ulliam/Gyssyc war. He was on the Arwen during the final battle, when Ulliam ships were appearing from wormholes heading toward the Gyssyc battleship. Each ship had fully charged particle accelerators, each with hundreds of strangelets, each on a suicide run to destroy the enemy. One ship appeared too close to the moon and was caught in its gravity. The Corps did all they could to stop the inevitable, but there was nothing anyone could have done once the ship hit the moon’s thin atmosphere. It exploded and released its store of strangelets. Any particle that touches a strangelet turns into a strangelet. It spread like a virus through the atmosphere, eventually touching the surface, destroying everything as it spread. It was over within minutes, and when the giant wormhole the moon had formed evaporated, there was nothing left of the moon.

As he walked down the crowded streets of the marketplace, his head in the clouds, going over the problem, an alarm on his watch chirped. It was time to get going. It was time to meet the only other person he felt a connection with.

****

The shuttle leveled out and she felt it gently bump as the landing gears lightly touched. Fran Lipton’s right leg fell into rhythm with her left and they both bobbed up and down to some unknown beat inside her head. She started to hum as the minutes dragged by.

The back door opened and in walked Professor Ricter. Fran stood from the bench and helped him drag in his equipment. He thanked