Command Deck, Forward Crew Quarters
The
door slid shut cleanly behind him. Dim lighting and Amarrian architecture left
his quarters particularly foreboding. The cramped space--the second largest
quarters on the vessel--seemed barely able to fit a cot and desk inside it. A
single lamp attached to the wall above his cot bathed the room in the faintest
hint of golden light. It made his eyes hurt.
He
let out a heavy sigh, and pulled at his uniform, unhooking a few of the buttons
that kept his jacket tight around his chest. Too tight, he would complain, if
it would've done any good. Pulling at the jacket again to give himself some
breathing room, he made his way to the back of his luxurious lodgings, and
tapped a switch on a wall panel. The door next to the panel, which mimicked the
theme of the wall almost exactly, retracted and slid to the side, revealing a small
washroom. Shower, sink, mirror... they all seemed too close together.
Leaning
over the sink, he let out another sigh, and let one of his hands drift into it,
triggering the motion sensor. Cold water rushed over his hand and into the
depression. He leaned down further and splashed some onto his face. Standing
upright, he looked himself over in the mirror. The lapel of his coat hanging
lazily, the makings of a beard covering his cheeks, droplets of water finding
their way to his chin, dropping onto his grey dress shirt.
Delen
Yima. Commander Delen Yima, he
thought to himself. It had only been a year since he left the Imperial Navy,
barely a lieutenant at the time. Leaving the strict, militaristic traditions of
serving Amarr Royalty to fight in some Capsuleer's private army seemed like a
good idea at the time. It probably was, he
thought. The pay was better, and he was immediately promoted to Commander after
he signed the contract. Whether a promotion outside Empire military meant
anything or not, he still wasn't sure. He surely hadn't counted on being
shipped out to the edge of the universe when he signed on. Not even the edge of
the known universe, fighting in some
self-proclaimed Alliance's war, as some officers did when they entered
Capsuleer service. But to the edge of the unknown
universe. He still hadn't a clue exactly where he was stationed. Some uncharted
system deep within a wormhole chain.
He
grabbed a towel, and dried his face. Closing the door to the washroom behind
him, he sat on his cot. Immediately, the light in his room brightened, and a
low-pitched klaxon sounded, assaulting his ears. He stared at the wall across
from him for a moment, the alarm throbbing in his ears. The ship's intercom
sounded, silencing the alarms. Exaggerated chimes preceded the announcement--a
relic of the vessel's Amarrian origins--signaling that it was a ship wide
broadcast.
"All
personnel to stations. This is not a drill."
The
klaxons returned. Commander Yima stood up, rebuttoning his jacket. Muttering a
few Gallentean curses, he strode out of his quarters.
Deck 12, Flight Group Crew Quarters
Theron
zipped up his flight suit, then went to work on getting his boots on.
"It's
probably another Sleeper run" he heard someone next to him say. The
klaxons stopped.
"At
this hour? Doubt it". Another of his squadron. Theron finished fastening his boots. He ran
his hands over his shaven head, a pre-flight ritual he picked up a few months
back from some Minmatar grunt who had since been transferred to another ship.
He looked up at his locker. Stills of friends he had left behind on Caldari
Prime. A few sets of civilian clothes, for shore leave on one of the Starbase's
housing modules. A dress uniform for ceremonial occasions. An extra pair of
boots.
Taking
a deep breath, he stood up, and shut his locker. He took a quick look around,
seeing most of his flight group still fumbling with their flight suits.
"Let's
move it, people! We've got targets to shoot!" He barked.
Command Deck, Bridge
Yima
entered the Bridge, returning the salutes of the posted guards. He walked over
to the central console, noting the bridge crew saluting him in sequence as he passed.
Lieutenant Garric was at the console across from him, leaning over it. Garric furiously
entered commands into the console, and a three dimensional holographic view of
the system was projected over it.
"Report."
Yima stated, half amused. Garric had always had a problem with situational
awareness, and focused far too narrowly on anything he was trying to
accomplish. The lieutenant glanced up, and immediately straightened and saluted
crisply.
"Sorry,
sir.", the salute was returned, and Garric's hand returned to the console,
"We've received word that an enemy fleet is blockading our outgoing
wormhole", he tapped a command and glanced up at the projection. A red
circle appeared around the location of the wormhole. "Our orders are to prep the ship to
spearhead the response. Our Pilot is en route, ETA eleven minutes."
Yima
looked over the map, frowning. "What does the enemy fleet look like?"
"Unknown,
sir... that's all that we received."
Yima's
frown deepened. "Alright, prep for launch" he glanced at one of the
communication officers "Hail bay control. Have them open the Array, and
get the mooring clamps off my ship". The comm officer offered a crisp
'Yes, sir!', then turned to her console, hailing the Ship Maintenance Array
crew. Looking back at the map projection, he noted several new friendly
contacts appear in the Starbase's zone of control. "They are really
scrambling... must be quite the enemy fleet. Garric, get Flight Groups one and
two set, relay them the situation."
Garric
nodded "Right away, sir". He returned to the intercom. A series of
heavy thuds resonated throughout the bridge. Yima nodded approvingly,
recognizing the sound of docking clamps disconnecting from the ship. He punched
a command into his console, bringing up a holographic view of the Ship
Maintenance Array, along with his ship inside it. The long, sleek lines of an
Archon class carrier--the Ascendant--made
him smirk slightly. If there was anything he was proud of after signing on with
a Capsuleer, it was being allowed to command such a beautiful vessel.
"Sir,
bay control confirms that mooring clamps have been retracted" the comm
officer informed the Commander. Nodding, Yima inspected the holographic
rendering. The giant doors of the Array housing the Archon began the lengthy
process of opening.
"Good,
good. Let's get her warmed up, shall we?" he announced to the bridge.
"Reactor
levels green". Engineering.
"Bringing
primary engines online". Navigation.
"All
stations report ready". Another comm officer.
Yima
glanced back at Garric. "Flight groups are checking in, sir" Garric
updated, holding one speaker of a headset against his ear. Yima nodded. Despite
the inadequacies of frontier life, he lived for this. He took note of the
console's projection again, and saw that the array doors were almost fully
extended.
"Helm,
engine status?" He looked to Navigation.
"Primary
drives primed, maneuvering thrusters online"
"Good.
Ahead one third. Take us out". He turned his attention back to the command
console.
"Aye,
ahead one third".
Flight Deck, Hangar Bay Two
The
ship shuddered gently for a moment as the engines roared to life. Theron leaned
against a bulkhead, watching as a pair
of the flight deck crew toiled over his Templar fighter. With hoses of every
size latched onto its hull, hangar struts attached to both wings, keeping it in
place, and the lower halves of two jumpsuit-adorned mechanics hanging out of
open hatches below the cockpit, the fighter looked like some octopus nightmare
out of Matari legend. Theron tilted his head slightly--amused at his daydream
of a monstrous Templar devouring the deck crew --until a tap on his shoulder
jolted him back to reality.
"She
looks ready to fly", a voice stated as Theron craned his neck to look over
his shoulder. One of the deck crew. Probably someone important. He gave the
crewman a nod.
The
mechanic continued, "A few more checks on your bird, and you'll be good to
go". The crewman looked down at a datapad, then toward the Templar, then
back to the datapad. A small nod to the pad and the crewman was satisfied with
the progress. He glanced back up at Theron. "Good luck out there", he
offered, then turned and headed for the next plane on the deck. Theron watched
him start the maintenance checks on the Templar next to his for a few moments.
He
turned back to his Templar. Half of the hoses were now gone. One of the crewmen
toiled with the connecting valve on a hose attached to the underside of the
Templar's fuselage. The connection gave a sharp hiss as the valve clamps
disengaged, and the mechanic slung the hose over his shoulder, dragging it
away. The other crewman was sealing the maintenance
hatches that they had been half-buried in just moments ago. His plane was
beginning to take its proper form; sleek golden curves, exaggerated Amarrian
glyphs embossed over the hull wherever possible. Dual laser cannon mounts were
attached to each forward wing, pressed snuggly against matching impressions in
the hull in their disarmed state.
Walking
around the fighter, Theron ran a hand over the glyphs embossed on the side of
the cockpit mount. He couldn't read Amarrian, but he was sure the etchings had
something to do with Divine Purpose or the Will of God. He glanced up to the cockpit itself, past the
transparent plating impressed with a green tint, and into the cramped seat
within. If there was one thing the Amarrians didn't believe in, it was comfort.
Command Deck, Bridge
"Helm,
all stop." Yima declared.
"Aye,
sir, all stop. Reversing thrusters", one of the navigation officers
acknowledged. The holographic projection showed the Archon slowing to a stop,
fully clear of the Maintenance Array.
Yima
looked over the command console's rendering of the Starbase surrounding them.
Two other Arrays were open, and a small armada of ships surrounded them, some
of them still in the process of exiting the Arrays. One of the holographic
ships caught his eye. An Apocalypse class battleship listed as the Tomahawk. He smirked to himself.
"Ensign
Freyley," Yima turned to one of the communications officers, "inform
Captain Thale aboard the Tomahawk
that he should take the safeties off his pulse batteries this time. I hear his
Pilot doesn't like flying into battle with his guns offline."
"Aye,
sir". The Ensign smiled as she relayed the message. Yima and Thale had
been in countless engagements together, and they had formed a close friendship.
A
few moments later, a gruff voice sounded over the bridge intercom,
"Ascendant, Tomahawk"
Yima
grabbed the bridge console's headset and pulled it toward him, talking into the
microphone, "Go ahead,
Tomahawk"
The
intercom sounded again, "You know damn well that that only happened once,
Yima"
The
pre-battle tension on the bridge seemed to dissipate immediately as the bridge
officers listened to the exchange. Yima brought the mic to bear again,
grinning, "Message received, Tomahawk. Ascendant out".
Garric
perked up from across the console, "Receiving new orders", he paused
to read over the packet showing up on his screen before continuing, "OpFor
has repositioned further down the chain. We are to lead the response fleet to
pursue the enemy. Our Pilot is in warp to the Starbase".
"Right".
Yima nodded. The tension returned to the bridge. "Let's not waste any more
time, ladies and gentlemen. Freyley, get the Pod Bay open and ready to receive
the Pilot". The order was acknowledged. Yima looked down toward his
console, punched in a few commands, and then back up to the projection. The
image zoomed back in to the Ascendant.
A new contact appeared out of warp, and was quickly identified as a Capsule.
"The
Capsule has entered the grid, and is beginning its docking procedure.
Standby", an officer reported. The Commander watched as the little green,
holographic egg burned toward the carrier. It maneuvering under the Archon's
superstructure, and on toward the center of the ship. The pod disappeared from
the display a heartbeat later.
"Docking
underway". Freyley reported, pressing her headset against her ear. A few
uneasy moments passed. "Pod Control confirms docking complete".
"Integrating
Command Capsule". Another of the bridge crew.
"Systems
syncing". And another. The holographic display flickered, momentarily
displaying a large schematic of a Capsule above the command console, with
counters representing various systems, all rapidly approaching 100%.
"Integration
complete. Transferring primary systems to Capsuleer control".
"Camera
drones launched". Six new screens appeared on the holographic display, each
with a different external view of the Archon. The ship shuddered, almost
violently. The camera displays showed the ship rapidly turning, aligning to
something. The tension on the bridge rose.
"Fleet
reports that Vanguard units have engaged the enemy".
Yima
gritted his teeth. Relinquishing control of the ship to someone he had never
met had always been the hardest part of his new command. He glanced up at the
holographic display, just as a single lined of text appeared. 'Hold onto something.'
"Brace
for warp!"
Flight Deck, Hangar Bay Two
Theron
grabbed onto one of the struts that were keeping his fighter in place as the deck
shook violently. He glanced around, alarmed, and saw the rest of the crew on
the deck stumble and grab onto whatever they could to keep from falling. The
intensity of the shaking increased for a few seconds, before becoming a constant,
shallow shudder.
He
let go of the strut. "Is it too much to ask for a little warning?" he
asked himself. Looking around and seeing his squadron's craft still berthed to
their struts, he grunted.
"Let's
get these birds ready to fly!" He yelled, and the deck crew immediately got
back to work, slightly more frantic than they had been before.
Command Deck, Bridge
"We're
coming out of warp, sir", a Comm Officer advised. The entire bridge crew
grabbed onto their workstations and hunkered down as the shaking returned. The
bridge jostled violently, with Yima and Garric both latched onto the command
console for support. After a few moments, the shaking stopped once again, and
the bridge crew returned to work.
Yima
stood upright again, shaking his head. He turned his attention to the command
console, and switched the projection to show the current grid. The Archon,
alongside a support fleet consisting of three Absolution command ships, three
Legion strategic cruisers, two Guardian logistics cruisers, and a lone
Apocalypse battleship. Yima took a moment to ponder the fleet's obsession with
Amarr ships, but relegated it to the "Capsuleer-Oddities" section of
his thoughts.
He
then noticed some of the escort fleet disappearing. On the projection to his
right, hovered the ever-shifting representation of a wormhole. An immediate
bout of nausea overtook him. He cursed under his breath as the carrier jumped.
*
* *
Yima
groaned as he regained his senses. Hunched over the command console, he lifted
himself up, dispelling the urge to retch, and looked around, taking an account
of the situation. The bridge crew looked to be alright, if a little green in
the face, and were regaining their composure at about the same speed as he. He
swallowed hard, and stood up straight.
Staring
him in the face was another entry into the text box hovering in the projection.
'Final warp. Combat imminent. Triage.'
The
ship lurched forcefully as it cleared the wormhole, and began to align with all
the inelegance of a capsuleer-piloted vessel . Yima took a deep breath, and
then turned to face the birdge crew looking to him.
"Red
alert! Get fighters in the launch bay! Prep remote repair crews for emergency
triage!", he declared to the bridge. Each of his orders were acknowledged
immediately, and the relative calm was replaced by the flurry of a duty-driven
command crew aboard a ship bound for combat. The neutral, golden light of the
bridge darkened and was replaced with a dim red. Klaxons sounded, and Garric
grabbed his intercom headset.
"All
personnel, prepare for battle. Shut down all non-combat systems. Prepare for
triage deployment". Garric's cool voice sounded in a ship wide broadcast.
The klaxon's stopped, but the glow of the condition red lighting remained.
Garric's eerie calm in combat situations always unsettled Yima, but he supposed
that that was what made the Lieutenant a
good officer. Yima closed his eyes, and took slow, deep breaths, clutching the
command console, as the vessel shuddered and entered warp.
Flight Deck, Forward Launch Bay
Theron
shifted in his seat, trying to find a comfortable position. He glanced forward,
to the tug that was towing his fighter into launch position. He ran through the
ship's systems, making sure everything was operating normally. Satisfied that
his craft was in prime condition, he reached for his helmet, and planted it on
his head snuggly. Connecting the helmet's systems to the fighter, a head's up
display appeared in his field of vision. It began a self diagnostic. The overly
clean smell of filtered O2 was everywhere in the cockpit, as its life support
systems weeded out any contaminants left over from the flight deck.
His
HUD finished its diagnostic, and linked into the carrier's comm systems. An
update appeared, a text transmission packet. He opened it and read it over
quickly, sighing irritably as he finished.
He
keyed up his squadron's channel. "Alright boys, looks like we're gonna sit
tight while the triage crew does their magic. Flight deck's getting locked
down. Standby... don't get too antsy". A chorus of disapproval resonated
in response.
Command Deck, Bridge
"Grid
is loading."
The
shuddering of dropping out of warp wound down, and the bridge crew prepared
themselves for the engagement. The projection updated, showing the fleet
already engaged with an enemy battle group orbiting a wormhole.
"Looks
like a handful of Tengus and Drakes... pair of Rokhs... Caldari fleet."
Yima tallied the opposition.
"New
contacts appearing on grid!", a comm officer announced, obviously shaken.
"Stay
calm", Yima looked toward the wormhole, finding the new contacts. A
Thanatos class Gallente Carrier and two Basilisk logistics cruisers. "Enemy
fleet has carrier support!"
"Triage
module activated!"
"Locking
multiple friendly targets!"
"Flight
Deck secured for Triage!"
"Triage
teams report successful deployment! Repairs Underway!"
Yima
eyed the camera drone displays, and was immediately greeted with a friendly
Legion's superstructure rupturing from the impact of a missile salvo. A few
seconds later, the reactor went critical, turning the once proud looking ship
into a burst of blue light, leaving behind only wreckage. He saw no life boats
jettison, but noted the Capsule burning away from the remains of his ship. 'There goes a few hundred good people.'
he thought to himself.
"Forward
Scout has been destroyed!"
Yima
growled, "Where the hell are those repairs!?"
"Remote
Repair modules cycling, sir! The Scout was mostly gone when we landed!"
'What a horrid start' Yima thought.
"Repair teams, keep up with the Pilot, I don't want any more
losses!".
The
projection showed the battle enter full swing, fire being exchanged between
well over two dozen ships. Despite the hail of fire from both sides, most of
the damage received was , more often than not, repaired immediately by the
Triaged Ascendant. The ship shook as it's
shields absorbed a stray missile barrage.
"Triage
teams report that the fleet has been stabilized, sir! The Triage Module has
been red-lit!"
Yima
acknowledged. "Have normal repairs resume immediately after we exit
Triage!" he turned to Garric "Advise flight group one to prepare to
launch once the launch bay is clear."
"Aye,
sir"
Flight Deck, Forward Launch Bay
"We've
received a green light, boys, the doors will be open momentarily", Theron
informed his squadron. He looked down from within his cockpit as the launch bay
was evacuated. Technicians and mechanics scattered to the exits as klaxons
sounded, and warning lights appeared in every corner of the bay. The temporary
struts keeping his Templar suspended in the air locked in place with an audible
click.
A
few silent moments passed as the evacuation completed and the bay was sealed.
The massive bay doors in front of him lit up with another set of warning
lights, and he could hear the muffled announcement that the bay was about to be
vented. Time seemed to stop.
Finally,
the bay doors creaked, and began to retract. The sudden change in pressure
caused his fighter to shake, but it stood in position regardless. The remnant
air in the bay rushed toward the opening door, being vented into space. A few
scraps of refuse and equipment leftover from the evacuation flew off into the
void. The doors continued to creak, opening slowly, meter by meter.
The
shaking stopped. The HUD of Theron's helmet showed that there was a complete
vacuum outside his cockpit. He stared out the half-open bay doors at the battle
that awaited him. Purple and Green laser beams lit up the dark scene. Trails of
missile salvos heading toward their targets, before turning into bright flashes
on the hulls of friendly ships. He held his breath.
He
heard another click, then his fighter shuddered for a moment as the struts
retracted into the floor of the bay. His fighter hovered in the launch bay,
rotating slowly without the restriction of the clamps. He quickly corrected the
spin with a few gentle thrusts of stabilizer jets. His fellow pilots did the
same.
Bay
Control chimed over the intercom, "You are clear to launch. Give 'em hell."
"We
are go for launch, boys. Stay with your wingman, and try not to run into
anything on the way out", he announced to his group, and then slammed the
throttle forward.
The
engines of his fighter roared to life, and slammed him back into his seat. The
golden craft accelerated quickly and launched him straight out of the launch
bay into the battle beyond. The rest of
the squadron launched in turn behind him. Theron grinned, and unlocked his
weapons, the laser cannons moving from their locked resting position to aim
straight ahead.
Command Deck, Bridge
"Fighters
launched, sir!"
The
tension of the bridge hadn't subsided, though the mood was significantly more
excited. Yima monitored the battle using the projection and camera drone
readouts, watching salvo after salvo be exchanged between the two fleets. The
Thanatos hadn't launched any fighters, and seemed to be remaining in triage to
counter the damage his support fleet was taking.
The
image of a Basilisk appeared on one of the camera drone displays, as it was hit
by strafing runs by four fighters, the tiny golden darts peppering the
cruiser's armor with laser fire. Immediately following, a full broadside from
an Apocalypse melted the weakened armor, boring eight holes straight through
the cruiser's hull. Yima cheered silently as the cruiser drifted for a few
seconds before exploding. Mentally, he marked one tally for Thale.
In Space, Templar Fighter AF-127
Cheers
resonated over the squadron comms as the cruiser exploded. Theron steered his
fighter in between a pair of enemy Drake battlecruisers just as one of them
launched a barrage of heavy missiles . Eight purple streaks connected with the
Drake, splashing over its shields, which seemed to be failing.
"Stay
clear of the big guns, boys", Theron advised, "Transmitting a new
target"
"Looks
like they are burning back to the hole!"
Theron
looked over the enemy fleet, trying to verify his wingman's assessment. The
enemy ships were all aligning toward the wormhole, under a constant barrage of
laser fire. All but the Thanatos.
Command Deck, Bridge
"That's
the third to jump. They are in full retreat"
Yima
looked over the situation, satisfied with the outcome. Only one loss, four
kills, and an enemy fleet battered and retreating. He then noticed that the
Thanatos was still on grid, and stationary, struggling to repair the remaining
ships that hadn't jumped.
"Their
carrier is still in Triage..." , he stated, mostly to himself. He watched
as, one by one, the enemy fleet disappeared into their wormhole. As a heavily
damaged Drake limped through, the holographic icon for the wormhole turned red
and began to blink.
"Confirmed,
sir", Freyley interjected,
"Fleet comms say that the hole just went critical. They are appraising the
situation."
Yima
looked from Freyley to the projection. The remaining red blips of enemy vessels
stopped just short of entering the wormhole. The Thanatos was some 25
kilometers off the distortion's edge, immobile.
A
familiar voice keyed over the bridge's speakers, "Ascendant,
Tomahawk". The grim bitterness in Captain Thale's voice was unmistakable.
Yima,
somewhat surprised, grabbed the command console's headset, and pulled it toward
him.
"Tomahawk,
this is the Ascendant, go". Yima glanced at the Tomahawk's blip on the console display, and noticed that it had
activated its Micro-Warp Drive and was heading straight toward the wormhole.
"We
have just been informed that we are heading through the wormhole".
Yima's
eyes widened, and he checked the wormhole's condition readout again. He
responded, trying to calm himself, "Tomahawk, that wormhole can't take
much more mass, it may collapse on you." he thought for a moment,
"Who gave the order?"
"Our
Pilot". There was a short pause that seemed to last for an eternity. The Tomahawk's blip crawled toward the
wormhole on the holographic display. "It's been an honor, Yima."
Swallowing
hard, Yima keyed the intercom again, "It has. Godspeed, Captain Thale.
Good luck."
The
communication was cut off abruptly as the two holographic blips merged and then
disappeared. Silence fell over the bridge.
In space, Templar Fighter AF-127
"What
the hell was that?!" One of his wingmates demanded.
"The
hole just collapsed!"
"
That was a friendly!"
Theron
craned his neck to the side to examine the area in space that had only moments
ago held the shifting vortex of a wormhole. There was nothing there but a few
battered enemy cruisers and bits of wreckage. He reached up to his fighter's
comm system, and keyed into the fleet's frequency, and was greeted by a
cacophony of confusion, target designations, situation reports, and requests
for instructions being transmitted between ships. No one seemed to know what had just happened.
Well, no Capsuleers, anyway, he reminded
himself.
He
was so focused on finding out what happened that he almost didn't notice the
new text packet on his HUD, sent straight from the Ascendant's Capsuleer pilot. The text read simply, 'Mop up.'
Command Deck, Bridge
Yima
stared at the holographic projection, leaning against the command console. The
bridge was still silent. From the projection, it seemed that the fleet had
recovered from the chaos that ensued from the Tomahawk's last flight, and were back at work hammering the
remaining enemy forces. One by one, the enemy blips blinked out of existence,
the enemy Thanatos looking on, 20 kilometers away, evidently without the power
required to continue Triage operations.
A
moment later, the Thanatos' indicator noted that it was moving. One m/s, then
two. Then three. Out of triage, then,
Yima thought to himself, bitterness enveloping his thoughts. He took a moment
to pity the enemy carrier's captain. Out of energy, unable to warp, nowhere to
escape to even if he could, and surrounded by a fully committed enemy fleet
with capital support. That wasn't a position any captain wanted to be in on the
battlefield. And under Capsuleer control,
only one of many ways to die. He wondered if the Ascendant, too, would be fashioned into an interstellar doorstop
and be lost with all hands at the whim of a Capsuleer. The thought was
unsettling.
He
regarded the projection once more, and saw that the enemy Thanatos was in its
death throes. Shields down, armor gone, hull failing. Tiny blips indicating
jettisoned life boats started surging from the vessel. Won't do them any good. Capsuleers don't pick up survivors.
Another
line of text appeared on the display, 'Victory
achieved. Prepare to return to station.'
Yima stared at
the text for a few heartbeats. Victory.