Vast, Our World and Our Resolve - Prologue
Story by Shotgun FIshing on SoFurry
Martin Halsted is a tramp who once dreamed of exploring Penelopeia, the world he calls home. However, after being framed for murdering his best friend forces him to abandon these dreams and live as an outlaw, the best the man hopes for is evading incarceration each day and drinking himself to sleep each night. His life veers in its course when he attempts to rob Namo, a sprightly, botanically-inclined faun woman who, through her exasperating and unceasing optimism, manages to rekindle Martin's hopes for his own future. Through their travels across entire continents, Martin discovers that his faun companion harbors a troubled past of her own. Their shared loss binds them in a web of conspiracy woven by Fadina Afzal, whose motives are as inscrutable to the man as her methods are ruthless. To obtain the justice they seek, Martin and Namo must pursue Afzal's trail in a harrowing game of cat and mouse and thwart the looming specter of Penelopeia's bloody history that threatens to rear its ugly head once again. All the while, the pair must contend with their evolving feelings toward one another, as they journey across the planet seeking a justice far more vast than the human and faun comprehend.
Thank you for choosing to give this work a read! What follows is a shamelessly self-indulgent novel set in a low-tech space western setting where humans are the aliens. There will be adventure, world building, cultural exchange, romance, and natural history. My hope is that you enjoy the world and feel deeply for the characters I have crafted. This is a very slow burn - there will be plenty of sex but not for at least 60k words!
As of this posting, several chapters are already available for viewing on Archive of Our Own, with additional reflections on my writing process or the world. I plan to catch up to the Ao3 mirror eventually but if you'd like more author's insights, check the link here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47820895/chapters/120556954
Please don't hesitate to comment and let me know your thoughts. I am open to and grateful for constructive feedback! Thanks again, and enjoy.
The vice admiral stared at her screen, the twenty-six standard hours of sleeplessness beginning to weigh on her despite the five cups of black coffee she had consumed and the adrenaline coursing through her. The live readout of the ever-changing status of each of the dozens of ships under her command marched across the screen from her operations center on the bridge of the HMS Valkyrie III. She was more attentive to the sensation of a bead of sweat condensing and then trickling down the side of her neck and her heart rate increased. The sixty-year-old woman was no stranger to the visceral fight-or-flight response that was taking effect, having served numerous tours in no fewer than four anti-insurgency wars, at times on the ground alongside the men and women she commanded. This time felt different, in a small way: exciting, perhaps even thrilling. She considered, in a moment of weakness, the loved ones she lost along the way to get to this point. The status report raced by and she heard a static-laced voice, too faint underneath the ringing in her ears. After a moment, it grew louder.
“Vice Admiral? Ma'am, do you read me?"
Vice Admiral Fontes Da Silva blinked to clear her thoughts. “Confirmed, Captain Durant. Proceed to the objective. Rain hell upon the insurgents. Leave no survivors. Godspeed." A small part of her felt like a snake, a hypocrite, a traitor even uttering the order, intrusive thoughts she quickly suppressed.
“Aye, ma'am." A confirmatory click, then silence on the aural communicator.
The readout in front of her continued to scroll, white glyphs on the turquoise screen: reports on fleet movements, personnel changes, supply levels, weather in different regions of space, and operation plans speeding by faster than any human could expect to glean an understanding from.
“Ma'am, the solar storm in the 3 Dryopis system is expected to begin during the bombardment. The whole fleet will be in the area of highest solar storm severity." Lieutenant Commander Ueda reported his update on the unfolding extraplanetary weather patterns with only the barest hint of trepidation in his voice. It was clear that he had grave concerns about his commanding officer's orders but would never day say so to her face.
“Expected impact on the operation?"
“Severe to extreme casualties to the entire fleet, ma'am. I'm sure you know, but the Tempest- and Quadrireme-class vessels that supply much of the ordnance aren't equipped to operate in such a disrupted EMF."
In truth, the vice admiral had known of the forecast coronal mass ejection by 3 Dryopis well in advance. It had been a chief component of the gambit unfolding before her. She fiddled with the ceremonial dagger at her hip restlessly. “What's the chance of the CME occurring during the offensive?"
“Eighty-five percent, ma'am." The chief astrometeorologist was clearly concerned, and he had every right to be: Fontes Da Silva had just sent one of the largest fleets in the Outer Arm on an apparent suicide mission, to glass a sparsely-populated failed colony that orbited a disappointingly mundane white dwarf star, which itself occurred in a backwoods neck of the galaxy that she wondered whether Empress Arsinoë IV even knew about. And for what? Because some upstart prisoners on Penelopeia had decided that they didn't want to carry the yoke of the Terran Interstellar Empire any longer?
The operation seemed needlessly and ruthlessly cruel, both to the denizens of Penelopeia and to the fleet she had ordered lead the assault. But she had been granted temporary authority by the Empress's 1st Terran Security Fleet through direct communique, a rare acknowledgment of Fontes Da Silva's loyalty by Arsinoë IV herself. Fontes Da Silva couldn't squander this chance, when the Empress, the closest thing she had to a commanding officer, was at the most vulnerable she had been in years. “The directive stands, Lieutenant Commander."
There was no further room to question the issuance of the order. The officer returned to his station with only a simple “yes ma'am" as a parting response.
On the status feed flickered a garbled text message from a supposedly unknown sender, all but a flash of text she could have missed were she not looking for it specifically. The timing was almost perfect: as if on cue, the automatic door behind her whirred open and a confident, charmingly accented voice sounded from behind her. “Captain Ayo, reporting to relieve you, ma'am." Fontes Da Silva swiveled in her command chair and the officer saluted. Returning the salute, the vice admiral summarized the status of the Valkyrie III, then excused herself to her cabin, navigating the narrow, featureless halls of the capital ship under her command.
She reached her cabin and, through a few clandestine swipes and taps, the vice admiral opened an encrypted channel on her portable data pad. A few more taps and the message was decoded:
> All vessels in place. Gap in the armor proved reliable for infiltration. Ready at your order to open assault on the flotilla.
A flicker of a smile crossed the vice admiral's face. She typed her response:
> You have an estimated three hours to wreak havoc before the storm hits. While her loyal hounds are away being good jingoist boys and girls, make her regret the moment she decided privilege was more important than liberty. Open fire on the flotilla, but remember - capture her alive if you can.
The message she received in response was almost immediate:
> All vessels opening fire. Will report in at 0030.
Satisfied, Vice Admiral Fontes Da Silva closed the encrypted channel, removed her officer's uniform, and lied back in her bunk. She grabbed the ceremonial knife from the top of her dresser and examined it. The platinum-coated hilt, engraved with the image of a roaring lion, served as her last keepsake of her status of a ranking member of the now-defunct Leonine Legion_._ The dagger signified a righteous vindication to upholding three tenets: loyalty to the Empress of Humankind; the courage to carry out her will, the will of humankind; and the strength to oppose all that would stand in the way of human sovereignty. She traced the mane of the lion with her thumb. If only she had known how her loyalty, courage, and strength could have been so warped and perverted to empower the most unjust among humankind.
She placed the dagger on its stand and closed her eyes. In her mind's eye, she imagined, with a practiced eye toward ship-to-ship combat, the damages the privateer fleet she commanded were currently inflicting on the Empress's flotilla in the absence of the majority of her defensive fleet. She then imagined the effect of the coronal mass ejection: an invisible wave ripping through this very defensive fleet, stationed dozens of light years away from the empress's flotilla, searing electronics and detonating nuclear weaponry before it had even been launched toward the planet.
Where her righteous vindication for the justice of humankind once smoldered, now it raged. And imminently, this righteous vindication would be brought to bear on the assaulting fleet that meted out the destruction of her home, as well as the autocratic authority behind it.