Void, Chapter 1 Pt1, first draft.
As a species, we had always looked to the stars. For inspiration, for answers, for god.
As time marched forwards, so did we. Compared to the infinite cosmos, we are nothing - we last but an instant to the lifecycle of stars, we are small, and we are insignificant. But as we marched beneath the stars, as generations toiled and died and passed this world on to the next endlessly, unnoticed by the distant, cold void, we learned not to look, but to listen.
Space, the infinite worlds around billions of stars around us and the immeasurable void between them, was silent. We asked why - life is so dominant on our cradle, on Earth - why then, is there no other? Why does the cold void not answer to us?
Eventually, we learned not to listen, but to discover. As we set forth, stepping across the stars for the first time, we slowly learned the reason for the silence.
We are alone. In our hopes and our dreams, our wanderlust and boundless curiosity. Our love, our hatred, our greed, our passion - the stars burn endlessly for no reason beyond simple physics. They are useless- unable to define themselves, or each other. We find our reason, we render the stars insignificant in our questions, our journey of discovery. In the fleeting moments of human life against the vastness of time, we achieve what nothing else in this galaxy ever will.
Commander White sat in her command chair, observing the holographic display that dominated the centre of the ships bridge. For 40 intense minutes she had manoeuvred her corvette into position, weapons firing all the way. The pirates, rebels, whoever they were, had fired back - their older, lighter weapons not nearly big enough to take on a military vessel, but they had taken their toll all the same. The secondary 200mm cannons on the port flank had been crippled; their autoloader feed from the magazines some twisted wreck after an enemy kinetic round punched through the ships EMMAS, then tore through metres of alloy armour plating, and several decks. The port flank had taken a beating, White's manoeuvres - the finest the Pourtsmouth Officers School had to offer - had been of dubious use, the rebel ships were light, fast, and always one step ahead. One of them had been torn to shreds by close range fire over a meaningless 8,000 mile knife fight, the other ship had escaped to beyond the 500k mark, and targeting was struggling to keep a solid track, rounds taking too long to be accurate - the target simply moved if it detected the energy surge of the weapons charging. The duel main cannons were charged, 350mm boron-carbide tipped kinetic penetrators ready to be flung across the void, the capacitors charged, ready for a jump charge to above standard maximum tolerance - to throw the rounds a little faster at the target. Overcharged like this, they could kiss almost half light speed - rounds harder than diamond would disintegrate, then ionise under the intense pressure as they slam through elctro-magnetic shields and metres of radiation-reflecting, ultra-dense hull armour plating. The whole ordeal would last but a millionth of a second - by which time the shattered, ionising remains of the penetrators would have passed through all 200 metres of the width of their target, tearing her to shreds. There wouldn't be much of the target ship larger than 50 metres. Quite the feat, when it was 550 metres from stern to aft.
For all of that, this second ship was different. It was clever, and punching above its weight.
The projection of the enemy ship was unchanged - arcing around lazily and slow, occasional broadsides from what was estimated at 200mm medium velocity guns mounted down the ships belly, poking out to starboard and port would dart across the void at Whites corvette, the HMS Oberon. The holograph of the Oberon flickered red suddenly. "Undetected salvo just hit us, we've lost direct contact with the reactor room, commander" "Energy surge through the ships power grid, it's tripped the circuit breaks- we're bleeding power! Commander-" "Redundant targeting systems offline, AI computers are reverting to power down mode, I can't override the system without the power to fire the processors back up"
"Commander" cut a voice, through the shouting officers from their stations. "The ship cannot take another salvo, I suspect the main reactor is offline"
It was the ships custodian - a fully sentient AI who served aboard the Oberon - and had immediate access to many of the ships functions, vital and otherwise, and appeared on his holographic display on the commander's station. He was, as far as anything could be, the living soul of the ship, and he wasn't impressed with White. And that he "suspected" the reactor was offline meant he didn't know if it was offline, and that was very, very bad. "Neverwinter" She said, glancing down to him. His projection - though it ended at the waist, wore an officers uniform, as was his right, as an officer of the Navy. "Can you contact the reactor room and find out?" "No more than the station hands can, sir. It appears our AI network is failing without power, my processor will be offline in 8 minutes, the batteries have been hit"
Of course they had. The dim red battle lights fluctuated, plunging the room into the half-dark glows of the displays that still worked.
"Mathers, try and get through to engineering, I need power to the ships systems" She shouted, towards the ships comms station, and Mathers who was frantically trying to make sense of the garbled messages he was receiving. "Lieutenant, just fire those guns at them. Spiegelman kill the speed, keep the scrubbers online, Boldman, bring the EMA-" "Energy flare! Weapons fire!" Cried Jonson from his station in the obs-pit. The bridge crew, Neverwinter and a stupefied White, stared at him. "Impact time... six seconds" He read from the screen. He looked up, the green light of his various scanners lit his face. Somewhere between smug, and horrified.
For six seconds, White stared at him. Bleeping, whirring alarms rang out across the bridge, the lights wobbled. Through the deck, the distant thud-thud of the mass-accelerators throwing rounds into the void.
In an instant, the bridge went dark, Neverwinter vanished, the holographs became blank empty air, and displays flickered or died angrily beeping. The ship lurched to the right - throwing Winters against her chair, sending a junior officer rolling through the noise and dancing lights across the deck of the bridge.
When the inertia subsided, she stood up, straightening her jacket in the near perfect darkness as the lights hummed, flickering back on, displays lighting up one after another, placid, blue and calm. Neverwinter appeared besides her. "If you were wondering, commander, the last salvo struck reactor 2, sending it into critical meltdown. Without full power, the sequence could not be aborted in time, and the fission could not be contained. Emergency core ejection failed. It went into meltdown, melting a hole through the ships inner hull, leading to catastrophic decompression of the keel, leaving the ship crippled, and powerless. Be thankful they didn't use explosive weapons" She rolled her eyes, knowing full well he could see her. He had no eyes of his own, but saw through the ships cameras. "Needless to say, you have failed this simulation, as well. The ship was destroyed"
"Very well" She replied, turning to the officer who had been thrown from her chair. "Are you okay, Petty Officer?" "Yes sir" the Petty Officer replied, dusting her jacket, before neatening it back up, and walking back to her station at the helm. Her direct officer - Sub-Lieutenant Turner, ships helmsman, sat holding the ships controls, turned to the commander, looking over his shoulder.
"Helm control returned, commander. What are your orders?" He asked. She sighed. "Take us back to Trafalgar Anchorage, pilot" She said. "Best time. I'll be writing my report" "Aye, commander best time, Trafalgar Anchorage. That'll be..." He paused, punching details into the navigation panel. "Three hours until arrival" "I'll be in my quarters. I expect senior officers there in ten minutes" She said, before striding out of the bridge. She ignored the smug grins and subordinate glances of the junior officers at their stations.
Chapter One - the HMS Oberon.
The Executive Officer Room - more commonly the Captains Room - was within the thick, armoured tertiary bulkheads. One of those metre-thick bulkheads formed one of the walls, in fact. The room was sparsely decorated, the ships badge, the flag of the Fourth Fleet, and the Royal Navy Ensign all hung from the wall opposite the door, but the other walls remained bare besides noticeboards and display screens. White marched into the room, closing the door behind her. She hadn't ordered the ship to stand down from action stations. Good she thought to herself, Insubordination deserves a hour or two action stations for no reason. _ "Neverwinter" she commanded, as the lights whined and flickered on, bathing the room in a mechanical white light. The walls were an uninspiring blue-grey like the warships of old, the smell of fresh paint still lingered in the corners of the nostrils the _Oberon was so new. Dutifully, Neverwinter appeared on a very small holographic projector built into a large, polished wood surfaced desk, ornately protruding from a wall, with a triplet of glastic monitors and an old-style button keyboard built into the desk, and a tub filled with ornate pens for official signing. "Commander White, did you summon me?" He asked, arms behind his back in a dutiful pose. "Yes, Lieutenant" she replied, looking around the sparse room. It felt almost naked, and cold. Physically cold. "What was that?" "That was a battlefield digital augmented simulation based on a true-to-life profiling of notorious pirate Jack " The Ja-" "You know what I mean" she barked at him, looking angrily at the hologram. He stared back at her, featureless eyes blinking. He gave a very tactical pause. "I am afraid, sir, that I do not" He replied. His projected face raised its eyebrows quizzically. "Those shots happened to hit the secondary reactor then? Through the tertiary hull?" "Yes, commander. That was a captured AF-R-31F two-fifty Royal Ordinance MAC. Jackhammer possessed one when he was engaged and destroyed" Another pause. Damned AI. "It provided quite the surprise to Commodore Riggs who destroyed him, and tore away one of the ships turrets, with all its crew. A total of 38 voidsmen lost their lives in that battle, but the Jackhammer was killed, along with his entire crew, and both ships in his possession" "That was not random" "I assure you, with respects, that it was not. Nor was it fair" He confirmed. She stared at him. "It is supposed to be a battle, and battles are seldom fair, commander. We are but an escorting corvette, we should be training with our unit"
The unit hadn't assembled yet. It hadn't even been named yet. It was just en route to Trafalgar Anchorage from... Somewhere.
White sighed as she sank into the chair, Neverwinter's legless torso spinning within his projection to follow her journey around the desk.
"You're not wrong, Neverwinter" she clasped her nose between her finger and her thumb, eyes closed. "I was trying to get a feel for the crew" "Still, commander? It has been four wee-" "I know" She interrupted. "This Fourth Fleet crew doesn't trust me, a failed simulation won't help my case" Neverwinter sucked his breath before replying. Not that he had lungs. "I agree" He said after a pause, "But, you are a new commander, and you are of the First. There will always be problems, commander" he replied. "You are not helping, Lieutenant"
The plucky little AI had been her only confident now for some weeks. Her first officer had not yet arrived - actually, most of the Executive Officers had not yet arrived, she had been relying entirely on the highest rank at any given station to act in their place, with predictable results. This shakedown was running the skeleton crew she had hard. She was getting used to Neverwinter and his slightly odd ways, but most AIs were odd, partially sentient, fully sentient - they were all strange one way or another. Maybe their digital brains were wired differently? He was growing on her, however. Maybe he was alone here too. Or, more likely, he's been programmed, or learned, how to be endearing.
Before Neverwinter could reply, he tilted his head, as if listening to a distant sound. "Priority transmission, direct laze" he said, suddenly, in a sure tone. "Who is it?" she asked. "Encrypted beyond my authorization" He replied, looking her in the eyes. "It's for you"
White moved her pinched fingers from her nose, and looked at Neverwinters glowing projection. "Where is it from?" He froze in place, his brow furrowed as if concentrating. "It is being routed through Trafalgar Anchorage, sir" "From where?" She asked, taping at the keyboard, waiting for the glastic screens to blink to life. She gripped one, slowly bending an annoying curve from it as it lit up, un-distorting the login screen as she did. "I can't tell" He admitted. White glanced at the screen as she hammered her details into the machine, eager to find out what the message was. There was a rather impatient bang on the door. She looked back to Neverwinter. "Sub-Lieutenants Jonson, Turner and midshipmen Spiegelman" He dutifully replied. "Tell them to wait" she replied, looking to the screen, poking at it as she navigated to the incoming message. "And tell Jonson to knock less aggressively, the door is right there" she said, without glancing. "Aye sir" He replied. She rubbed her eyes as the machine asked for her clearance. She swiped her cuff by the monitor, which beeped and asked for her password. With a sigh, she put it in, again. It paused briefly to verify, and begun decrypting and re-organising the data. She looked at the projection of Neverwinter, staring into the distance. "Are you always spying on who is outside my door, Neverwinter?" He looked at her, almost offended. "Always, sir" he replied. "It is my duty, as custodian I am assistant to the Executive Commanding Officer at all times, it is my duty to know who is outside your door" "You are in two rooms at once, then?" "Well I am not projecting into the corridor, as there is no projector. I simply spoke to them through the ships intercom, as is protocol. Though I am still projecting into the operations room, and talking with Sub-Lieutenant Mathers, who is concerned with the volume of information delivered in the simulation to his station, as his assistant has not arrived aboard the ship yet, I am working towards greater efficiency in information re-routing and automated handling with the semi-sentient AI that assists the communication stations. I am also interacting with the ships weapon AI, who believes the calibration of the weapons during the simulation was inaccurate, especially of the secondary weapons and the point defences, sir. He wishes for a live fire demonstration to prove his point, I think he is actually serious, too, but the subject is hardly important enough to warrant much escalation, I believe the ships weapons officer can rectify any errors, once he arrives" "Will you notify..." White's mouth moved, but she couldn't find a name. Or rank. "Petty Officer Tanya O'Kelly" finished Neverwinter. "I had to look to remind myself too, Commander" He added, with a smirk. "I intend to, or rather, I intend to tell Crompton to tell her, that is his job" "Good" White nodded, then the computer pinged. The loading bar was telling her it was finished with whatever it had to do to decrypt the message, and the noises coming from the computer told her it was doing something. "Well, Neverwinter, it's creepy you being in so many rooms at once. But I need this one to myself while I watch this" "Aye sir" he replied. "I'll be on the bridge then. Among other places" He flickered and vanished. White raised her eyebrows, then turned to the monitor.
An extraordinarily well-presented Rear Admiral appeared on the screen, his black uniform and golden trimmings were immaculate. It was Admiral Robinson. His hair was grey and combed against his sagging skin, which hung loosely from his skull. "Commander Jennifer White, acting Executive Commanding Officer aboard the corvette, HMS Oberon, you are ordered to make best speed to Trafalgar Anchorage. The rest of your ships division - the HMS Ocelot and the HMS Long Night - are due to arrive in the next three days, as will the remaining crew. Your ship is to be refuelled and restocked for her next operation. A series of births and a docking arm have been cleared for the use of your division, and passes arranged. I expect a report on your ah... Training activities submitted within 12 hours of initial transmission" He glanced at something slightly away from the camera, his hanging, ancient jowls wiggling as he spoke. "23:14, UST. Good grief, is it that late? Anyway, Commander. You will be transferred to Four Fleet command officially commencing your next operations. End communication."
_ Well that's convenient enough_ she mused. She looked to the door an-
"One more thing, Commander" said the monitor. White froze and glanced at the recording from the corner of her eye, holding her breath as it interrupted her. "The passes will grant 24 hours planetside, one for each member of the crew. Operations commence in five days- kick-off is 04:30 Hours, 23rdJune" He reached off-camera, to something under his nose on the desk, and pressed it. The recording ended, his old, star-beaten face replaced with an image of the Royal Navy ensign.
She looked back to the door and shouted "Enter! Come in here, lieutenants" The heavy wooden door squeaked on its ye-olde hinges as the three men entered. "And Petty officers, you are welcome too" She added, noting Spiegelman's chevrons. For now, this was as close to an Executive Command as she had, an assembling of her highest ranked officers- besides the Lieutenant Commander down in the reactor room. "Gentlemen, anything you would like to be added to my report to the Admiral on our latest simulation?" She asked them. "Will we still be expected to write our own reports, Commander?" asked Turner. "Yes, you will" replied White. "Nothing fancy, just the usual bullet points. You handle the ship well, Turner, I was impressed. I'll be noting that in my report, you are improving quickly" Turner smiled a little. "She is an easy ship to sail, Commander" "If I may, Commander" blurted Jonson. "I have concerns regarding responses to our ships movement within the simulation, I would like to have them noted, and concerns with crew responses to the... Situation." He added, tactically. So not to their orders then noted White.
Jonson. He had ideas above his station and had spent the last nine days pushing boundaries and trying White's patience. He was good at it- he hadn't overtly stepped out of line. He only bent rules, only found the buttons to press. He never took it too far.
"I agree, Jonson. Write them into your report, and I shall submit what I have written on the subject for your reviewing. I expect your annotations in agreement in my report, and your own thoughts categorized in yours. Then the usual signatures. You know the drills" She replied. Jonson deflated a little, his snide remarks had just landed him a few hours exploring the thrilling world of written naval simulation reports, just to have his complaints buried in a mountain of paperwork no one would read a second time. "Midshipman, if you're still having trouble with these reports, just ask Neverwinter for advice, I'll let him know I sent you" "Yes sir" Spiegelman replied, with a brisk nod. There was a pause. "Oh, and gentlemen" White added, looking over from her screen. "Passes have been organised when we arrive at Trafalgar. I don't have details yet, though, one for each member of the crew. Spread the word" "When do we ship out, Commander?" asked Turner. White looked at him. He's smart. "Five days. Our division and missing crew arrive in the next few days, then we're off. That's all I know, I'm afraid" Turner and Spiegelman nodded. "That is all. I'll send any relevant details of my report directly to you Jonson, expect them when we make Trafalgar. All reports are due inside the next twelve hours"
The officers turned smartly and left. Jonson had a satisfyingly foul expression hidden beneath his officer cool. White grinned, before prodding commands into her monitor. Neverwinter materialised. "Yes, sir?" He asked. "Order the ship to stand down from action stations, make ready for port" "Stand down, make ready for port, aye sir" He repeated, smug, before vanishing himself. White sighed, and hunched over the keyboard. She had a lot to write. She looked at the screen, and navigated her way to the ships database. She typed in HMS Ocelot. Another Onager class - one the Oberon's sisters. Older than the Oberon by a few years. General purpose corvettes, built to the specification of the Fourth Fleet. Long range, good stealth, patrol ships - like most of the Fourth Fleet. HMS Ocelot had been overhauled to include a wider defensive suite, to provide longer range cover, interlaced with the defensive suites of her division. Fairly standard equipment in the more lavishly equipped fleets. Ocelot must have longer range point defences to boot, too, White considered silently to herself.
HMS Long Night
No Data Found. Did you mean: The Battle of the Long Night (2278) ? White frowned. Fourth Fleet: Commissioned Ships
Ships under construction
Sill no_Long Night._ There had never been a Long Night. Not even in another navy in the Commonwealth. She went back to the Battle of the Long Night, skimming over the document.
_ 2278, the third colonial wars, Royal Navy, yadda yadda, the aftermath of New Birmingham. Interesting... Two cruisers lost, one battleship heavily damaged, fought around the orbit of Pluto. What the hell is Pluto? Why was it so important? Argentinian refuelling base for trans-neptunian raiding ships. Not much to go on, then_, she thought. A minor skirmish in a messy war. She leaned back in her tall, leather chair, taking off her cap and placing it on the desk, closing her eyes, pinching her nose, she heard the steady thrum of the engines, their rotary psudo-magnetic chambers roaring as they spun, and the reverberations through the ship. She sighed. Three hours until Trafalgar, three hours for preliminary reports. Twelve for a full report of the last nine days firing fake broadsides at nothing real, and her own lacklustre performance. Same for the crew. And poor Neverwinter. At least the Oberon had performed well.