StarDestroyer.Net BBS

<edit> I've added a poll, and I'll add another chapter in case people need to see more of a story here. </edit>

Author's Notes

This is part of a sci-fi universe that I have been working on for more than ten years. The premise, as it is now, is simple. We take a human civilization 2400+ years in the future, and see just how much trouble we can get them into. The civilization in question is the United Federation of the Known Worlds, a civilization that likes to think of itself as being somewhat more egalitarian and idealistic than it really is. (It has a reputation for posessing one of the best trained, if not the most technically sophisticated, militaries in our corner of the Galaxy.)

I've decided I need to subject it to actual readers. And I figured, what better place to do it than here. Especially since my pretty formatting would come across mostly unmolested. So, comments and criticisms would be greatly appreciated.

Notes

All dates mentioned within are from the Post-Second Millenium Calendar, established by Emperor Rashid I (Hassad bin-Rashid), first emperor of the Empire of Ascension in the old calendar year of 2422 AD. The PSM calendar takes 2000 AD to be year zero. Thus, 2481 would really be 4481 AD.

Prologue: The Death of Peace.

Dateline: 24800701.0332 (July 1, 2480, 03:32 hours.), the Bancroft 324 system, 6400 light-years from Earth: In the deep starry black of space, five blocky gray shapes drifted silently over the nightside of the system's giant planet. They were starships, military starships. Each one armed with an impressive assortment of particle weapons, lasers, and missiles. Each ship carried a full platoon of ground troops, all of whom were ready for the attack that was soon to come.
None of their crews were Human. None of their crew were even humanoid. In the dim blue-green light of their ships, shadowy, tentacled shapes slithered silently across the decks, baseball-sized eyes jerking in response to angry commands flickered across luminescent skin. And yet, even in the alien air, the sense of tension and anticipation was obvious. Soon, their plans would come to fruition. Soon they would start down a path that would shake even the powerful United Federation of the Known Worlds.
Suddenly, the first of the ships left the shadow of the giant planet, dull grey, pitted and scoured hullmetal glinting in the light of Bancroft's sun. As the five ships broke into daylight, they were suddenly surrounded by the faint shimmer of defensive force-fields. In a matter of minutes, each ship disgorged a swarm of sleek, dagger-like troop transports, each painted matte black. The attack had begun.
Dateline: 24800701.0340, MarsCorp Research Complex Sixteen, Bancroft 324 System. A young woman stepped out into the early morning sunlight, dressed in a plain gray jumpsuit, the MarsCorp logo emblazoned above her left breast pocket. Below it was the badge of the United Federation of the Known Worlds: A cobalt-blue disk with a map of the Galaxy etched across it's face with three gold stars, symbolic of the Federation's three founding races arranged in a triangle around the greek delta symbol in the center. Four golden compass points, and a pair of stylized olive-branches curling up the bottom of the disk completed the design.
The young woman was Meghan Salazar, an employee of what was, undoubtedly, the single largest corporation Humans, or the Galaxy in general, had ever known. She was a research chemist, one of those bright young researchers looking for innovative new ways to make life better for the eighteen billion Humans scattered across the Known Worlds.
At least, that was what the recruitment brochure and the pleasantly genial MarsCorp Sentient Resources person told her. The reality: She was out on the absolute tail-end of the Known Worlds, over 6000 light-years from Earth and the Core Worlds. She worked on a bunch of inconsequential projects on a colony world that had to call the local Fleet detachment every four to six weeks to chase off pirates, raiders, and other undesirables.
Meghan sighed, flipping back her long brown-blonde hair. At least it was a dependable source of income and a respectable living. It was better than overpopulated and overpolluted Earth. Even if it wasn't as exciting an existence as she would've liked, she couldn't really complain.
"Hey Doc!" Someone said behind her. Meghan turned around, immediately recognizing the girl who was catching up to her. In her off time, Meghan instructed some of the colony's teen population on the finer points of synthesizer chemistry. Of course, they all took to calling her "Doc," in spite of her best attempts otherwise.
"Good morning, Jenni," Meghan replied, nodding at the young woman as she hurried off to the classroom complex. School, like everything else at Research Complex Sixteen, revolved around Firefall, the gas giant they orbited.
The colony was located on a world slightly smaller than Earth. That world orbited the gas giant Firefall, whose bands of turbulent, creamy-yellow clouds lit their world at night. And every day, for the three hours surrounding what would ordinarily be noon, Firefall eclipsed the sun, plunging the colony into darkness. On other worlds like Firefall, the locals called the time siesta. However, plain old Spanish-flavored Standard wasn't spoken here. Many of the natives spoke the Portugese-flavored stuff. As a result, eveybody here called the time soneca.
Meghan smiled, watching Jenni disappear into the classroom complex. Everything stopped for soneca, even school. As a result, like Meghan's work-day, school for Jenni, and the 2500 others who had to attend it, started at dawn. Poor kids, Meghan thought, shaking her head.
Suddenly, red lights atop the streetlights began to flash and spin and an shrieking wail came forth from all the outdoor loudspeakers. Meghan gritted her teeth and picked up her pace. Where some planets had tornado alarms, Firefall had pirate alarms. The system was only 400 light-years from the Federation borders with Demonoid and Rhoedian space.
Both the Rhoedians and the Demonoids were local alien species. Neither liked the Federation very much, so they hosted and sponsored privateers, pirates and raiders. And every so often, the raiders grew bold enough to attempt a raid. Meghan shook her head as she ducked into the classroom complex. None of them ever got as far as the surface. Usually a starship of the Fleet's 108th Territorial Squadron would be by to chase the raiders off.
Meghan decided to leave the classroom complex and make the dash to one of the buildings lying on the outskirts of the Materials complex. Granted, it was against regulations, but if the colony was going to lock itself down for a few hours, she wanted to be in a place where she could at least get some work done!
As she hurried back into the sunlight, Meghan briefly wondered why an advisory hadn't been issued before she left. She knew ships had to drop out of hyperspace at the edge of the system. Even the fastest raider vessel would take over ten hours to get close enough to trigger the pirate alarm. Long before that, the colonial government would put out some sort of advisory notice.
"Miss! You shouldn't be out here!" Somebody shouted off to her left. Meghan's head snapped over and she found herself staring into the black helmet of a Federation soldier.
Meghan came to an abrupt halt. Usually the colonial security officers would be out during a lockdown.
"What are you doing here?" Meghan replied briskly.
"I could ask the same question of you, ma'am," the soldier, his voice sounding clipped and mechanical through his mask. "No civilians are to be outdoors during a raid!"
"The Marine garrison never comes out here unless they think something is wrong!" Meghan exclaimed in surprise. Immediately, her eyes went wide. "Something is wrong, isn't it?" She asked, glaring at the soldier.
"Get inside, now!" The soldier replied, pointing his blaster carbine in Meghan's general direction. Federal Marines weren't known for their manners or civility. Meghan turned and broke into a jog, an impending sense of dread growing inside her.
Alien transports screamed into the atmosphere above MarsCorp Research Complex Sixteen and it's outlying colony. Crackling beams of energy lanced down from their motherships, obliterating the planet's defenses. A handful of shimmering blue inducer beams struck back at the alien assailants. Occasionally, one flared into a brilliant shaft of light as it found a target. Moments later, the offending sites were silenced, vanishing in awesome fireballs.
The alien ships wheeled over the complex, fiery bolts of death chewing at the buildings and anything moving on the surface. Their destruction did not concern the attackers: what they were interested in, lay mostly underground. Warheads from space slammed into the ground, obliterating the colony's main powerplants. Across the colony, wailing air- raid sirens were abruptly silenced as lights, computers, and other appliances suddenly went dead.
Within moments, the aliens held the field. Today, there would be no rescue by the 108th, if things went according to plan, they would be too occupied to come to the rescue of the Bancroft 324 colony. With a roar, their troop transports dropped to the ground, obscured in billowing clouds of smoke and dust.

Some time later . . .

Meghan looked up as the emergency lights flickered. An instant later, the corridor shook as another raider warhead slammed into it's target. She trembled, thinking of the carnage that had to be going on above ground.
She shook her head violently, making her way down the corridor. This was too much excitement for her. She never thought the raiders would actually make it, nor did she ever imagine they would be so violent. She tapped on a computer panel recessed into the wall.
"Damn it!" Meghan cursed, punching the panel. The networks were offline, so she had no way of knowing where the other survivors had gathered. Nor did she know which blast doors were still open . . . All the ones she tried were closed, which meant that she, and the rest of the Materials complex, were isolated from the community shelters.
Meghan hissed her frustration as she tried the computer terminal again. For a brief instant, it gave her a map of the underground complex. Just as she was starting to look at the map, however, it vanished. She gritted her teeth and took a couple of steps away from the terminal, clenching her fists at her sides. Suddenly, she heard a scraping noise behind her. With a gasp she wheeled around, coming face-to- face with a raider.
It looked like some poorly drawn representation of a humanoid, with legs and arms that curved unnaturally, almost as if they had no bones in them. It had 'V' shaped structures down it's chest and abdomem, structures that seemed to ripple with nervous tension. It's face had a fringe of twelve small tentacles where it's mouth or chin would be, and had two foot-long miniature tentacles which resembled it's arms, and it's legs.
The alien raider stared at her with baseball-sized eyes, 'H' shaped pupils widening in silvery irises. It's sloped forehead flickered angrily with color, as if the alien could barely contain itself.
"Get back," Meghan said, starting to back away from the alien. Slowly, the alien stepped closer, it's body trembling.
"No, stay away!" Meghan said again, almost shouting. Her brown eyes were wide with terror.
"sssurrrenderrr," the alien hissed, falling forward, the structures over it's belly exploding forward into a flailing mass of tentacles. Meghan screamed, turning to run away. The alien slid forward with a burst of speed, and it's arm, really a long and powerful tentacle, whipped out, smashing into the base of Meghan's skull with a dull crunch. She flew forward, limply tumbling onto the deck.
Dateline: 24800701.0441. Whittaker Assembly Hall, MarsCorp Research Complex 16: Human survivors were lined up along the walls of the cavernous underground room, shadows in the muted light. There was muted, nervous conversation, unashamed sobbing, and groans from the wounded. The raiders slithered up and down the rows of prisoners, lashing out at the occasional defiant prisoner. Only one Human was standing, an old wizened man in simple brown robes.
Upon closer inspection, he wasn't really Human. He had a bony wreath, starting where his ears would normally be, and circling the back of his skull. He had no eyebrows, instead posessing two squarish projections over his eyes. And through his aged and translucent skin, a pale, hexagonal pattern of blood vessels covered him from head to toe.
His name was Tharsen Manales, and he was a Kerrian, one of the three founding species of the Federation. He was the reason the raiders had attacked the Bancroft 324 colony. He was the one who ordered the assault on the colony. He had his reasons, and he knew them to be good.
Tharsen was the Glorious One, the appointed leader of the raiders, all members of the Demonoid Imperial Movement. All of them were Demonoids, a species with the most bizarre physiology of any in the Known Worlds. And Tharsen, a non- Demonoid, was their leader because of a pact between the Demonoids and an alien race known only as the Ancients.
In exchange for the knowledge and power of the Ancients, the Demonoids became their servants and vessels. Unfortunately, Demonoid physiology stopped the Ancients from efficiently posessing their Demonoid hosts. So the Demonoids had to look outward to the other species of the Known Worlds, taking some suitable canidate and unifying them with an Ancient One. The union made the hapless victim the Glorious One, and gave them long life, power, and knowledge beyond imagination.
The price for such a bond was severe. The victim's body aged rapidly, becoming a wizened husk, a walking corpse. For almost a century, Tharsen had been in this state. He had guided the Demonoids toward what would be the first of their great conflicts, a fight with the poweful United Federation of the Known Worlds.
Now, though, Tharsen's body was too frail for the Ancient One contained within him. Soon, he would be unable to serve the Righteous Cause. A new Glorious One had to be bonded, somebody who could lead the Demonoids, and the Ancients into the troubled times ahead.
That was why he had attacked the outpost. He knew most of the unarmed civilians would flee to underground shelters, while his Demonoid forces pounded the surface buildings, and the armed resistance, into rubble. He knew his successor was in the room, he could feel the moods of the Ancient One surging within him.
He stooped down in front of a young woman who had three vicious sucker marks on her cheek, blood oozing from three gashes, each in the center of a sucker mark. The hooked suckers of a Demonoid soldier had torn into her skin. If it was her fate to live, Tharsen knew that her cheek would be permanently scarred. As it was, the Federation could not yet know of who attacked the Bancroft colony. All life here would be exterminated once the transition was assured.
"Leave her alone!" A woman exclaimed to his left. Tharsen looked up abruptly, his eyes meeting those of a woman in a gray jumpsuit. As he looked at her, his heart started to race, and his eyes glowed with the power of the Ancients.
This is the one. The Ancient One told him. In his peripheral vision, Tharsen could see one of the soldiers coming to lash the woman.
"Stay your hand!" Tharsen snarled, his reedy voice carrying surprising power. "We have what we're looking for. Bring her to me!"
The soldiers seized Meghan in their tentacles, hauling her to her feet. They brought her, struggling, to face Tharsen. He looked down at her, his wizened claw of a hand touching her cheek.
"The fire burns bright within you, child," he said.
"What do you want from us!" Meghan snarled, struggling against her bonds.
"I may already have what I want. Listen closely," Tharsen replied slowly. "There will come a time of darkness. I can no longer lead the Righteous Cause. You will lead the Galaxy into the future, child," Tharsen said, his eyes sparkling with fanatical fervor.
"What are you talking about? I will do no such thing!" Meghan
snapped.
"You will, child. You cannot resist the power of the Ancients."
"I refuse," Meghan replied firmly.
"Then you will be massacred with the rest," Tharsen said, starting to turn away.
"No!" Meghan shouted. "Leave them out of it!"
"I am afraid I cannot," Tharsen replied wearily. "The Federation must not yet know of the hunter that is about to pounce upon them."
"And will they believe the word of a handful of terrified survivors with nothing to show but a ruined colony?" Meghan spat back.
Tharsen turned back with a snap. "For one in your position, you are certainly impudent!" He said, the weariness leaving his voice.
"No, just determined," Meghan replied evenly, no longer caring that she was in the grasp of hostile aliens.
"Determination is something we gravely need in the times ahead, child. Do not waste it on these unworthy souls. Come with me, answer the cry in your heart. You know it to be there!" Tharsen replied.
"Then don't give me an excuse," Meghan said, narrowing her eyes. Deep within her, a dark thought took hold. A little voice sweetly whispering about all that was implied in Tharsen's tone.
"If you come with me, you will have power , and understanding, far beyond what you now comprehend," Tharsen said, eyeing Meghan's laboratory coat. "Within me is the knowledge of millenia of research and philosophy," he said, gazing into her eyes with fiery intensity.
Meghan shrank back a little, an indescribable feeling flooding her body. In an instant, she knew that everything he said had to be true. She felt her knees getting weak, threatening to fold under her. Sternly, she forced herself upright.
"I will go with you," she said again, her expression intense, "If you want me, then don't harm them," she said, briefly glancing at the young woman with the wounded cheek. Tharsen regarded her with a cold smile.
"Indeed, so determined, so willful," he said. "You will one day serve us well. So be it," he said with a predatory smile, closing the gap between him and Meghan. Very suddenly, there was a small, slender knife in his hand.
"You will one day understand that what must be done today is righteous and just," he said, his eyes fixed on Meghan's. With a flick of his wrist, his dagger was buried in her thigh.
Meghan's eyes flared with anger as she slumped against her captors. Unfortunately for her, the poison coating Tharsen's blade was fast-acting. Within moments, she was unconscious, and would stay that way until Tharsen and his forces were well away from the planet.
"As was foretold, the circle shall soon be closed," Tharsen said grimly, sheathing his dagger. This one was as willful as he was when he was first recruited. A small scar on his thigh ached in sympathy for Meghan, who even now, was being carried away. He looked over the assembly of terrified captives, his face expressionless.
"Kill them," he said, turning to leave the room. As he was about to make his exit, he stopped short, turning back to his soldiers. For several moments, they waited for him to speak. "Yes, kill them," Tharsen confirmed at length, "but leave a handful of them alive. The training of our new apprentice may yet be hastened by this small token of mercy," he said, turning quickly to leave the room.
For a short time, the alien soldiers looked to each other, their skins changing color, flickering with rapid intensity. Then, they advanced on the survivors, silent, even as the screams began.

Chapter One: First Impressions.

This is your InfoNet Newsburst for Dateline: 24810416.1700. Today, Federal investigators revealed that another colony was attacked by assailants known only as the Demonoid Imperial Movement. This is the fifteenth colony attacked since the MarsCorp colony at Bancroft 324 was destroyed nine months ago, leaving only seventy-two survivors. In related news: Today, the Grand Assembly passed a non-binding resolution demanding the resignation of Fleet Admiral Melissa Chianne for Fleet's continued inaction in the matter . . .
With disgust, Lieutenant Ben Lewinger shoved the datapad back into its receptacle, silencing the news broadcast. If only the civil news-nets knew the whole story. The Grand Assembly too, for that matter, could use a brief. He knew, though, that for some reason, Admiralty ordered everything kept secret.
Ben shook his head, turning to gaze out the window at the austere gray lunar landscape. For a moment, he focused on his reflection. Looking back at him was a youthful, masculine face, framed by long, golden-brown hair. He was aboard a shuttle, idling at the Winnipeg InterStar Spaceport. An accident an hour earlier had crippled the port's ability to fuel the shuttles coming and going from the Federation's capital city, built in glittering domes huddled on the surface of the Moon.
Finally, the pilot of the shuttle announced they were taking off with the one-sixteenth load of fuel the shuttle had landed with. Ben sighed gustily. He knew that meant that the shuttle would take a broad, looping, trajectory to it's destination, adding even more time to it's trip, which would make Ben even later than he already was.
Already, he should've been at the hangar bay of the starship Denison Risinger, accepting his transfer to his new post. Ben Lewinger was once Commander Ben Lewinger, Chief of Engineering for the Federation starship Catron. That, however, was no longer the case. And really, it was all Ben's fault. He sighed, indulging the old memory once again:
A few weeks ago, his old skipper, Captain Kate Leonn, held a reception for Head Admiral of Fleet, Melissa Chianne. At that time, Ben was the Chief of Engineering, aboard a ship he loved, and a crew he knew. Unfortunately, a small misunderstanding lead to a massive brawl that left five people in sickbay, and sixteen in the brig. What was the worst thing about it was he had accidentally hit Kate, breaking her jaw. That was when Security arrived and blanketed the room with stun bolts. When Ben woke up, he learned that he would be court-martialed on charges of Assault on a Superior Officer.
As with all such cases, heads rolled and asses were kicked as Fleet blasted out reprimands and retributions. Ben's head rolled the furthest, his ass kicked with the biggest boot. The tribunal took less than five minutes to convict him, in spite of testimony from fifteen witnesses, including Kate herself. They broke him from a Commander to a Lieutenant, and stripped him of his position. One of the officers assured him that he would be shitcanned, and could expect to never again see service aboard a ship of the line.
Yet, here he was, on his way to the fastest ship Fleet had ever built. The reason? The ship's commanding officer was someone very dear to him, a friend he had once taught at the Academy. Her name was Laura Risinger, the gutsy young woman who astonished everybody by being appointed to command the Denison Risinger; the ship equipped with the fastest hyperdrive the Federation could build.
Ben could remember the days when he was an Academy instructor, and she was an unremarkable student. Yet, now, she outranked him, and now, it was because of her that he had his new position. He realized that Laura must've used up a considerable number of favors to swing his transfer.
He smiled faintly, looking ahead as the shuttle's engines rumbled to life. Laura was bringing him to her ship, and how does he repay her? By being more than an hour late! Things were not going well for Ben, that much was for certain.
He clenched his fists. Ben wasn't the kind of man to let life keep him down for long. And yet, here he was. Ben looked around the cabin . . . he needed someone to talk to. There were nine people aboard the shuttle with him. Two of them he recognized as junior officers from the frigate Fifth of May and the heavy cruiser Pershing. He had talked to them both at the spaceport, and didn't think they had much interesting to say.
The next five were enlisted men, all of whom wore the distinctive blue vests of Security men. He quickly moved on, right now he was more likely to deck a Security man than talk to him. That left the two people in the seats behind his. One of them was a light-haired young woman with three angry circular scars on her face. Immediately Ben recognized her as one of the Bancroft 324 survivors.
Ben frowned. Shortly before that fateful reception, he and the Catron responded to a distress call from a Federal science facility out near the Demonoid border. When they got there, it was already too late. The station staff were all dead. As Ben lead the investigation teams, the Demonoids came back, apparently hoping to ambush a Federation vessel. Fortunately for Ben, the Demonoid ships were heavily outgunned by the Catron, and were chased off.
Quickly, he turned his gaze away from the Bancroft survivor, forcing the memories from his mind. That left the last person, a young woman Ben knew as Cadet First Class, Ialien Tahn. She immediately caught his eye, as she was a Kerrian. They were one of the three founding members of the Federation, yet her presence surprised him, for Kerrians generally refused to serve in the Federal military.
She was going over an datapad, studying intently. Ben studied her closely. She had a fair complexion, and light skin. She had crystal blue eyes, and almost-human ears blending in a fragile bony crest reaching back around her head. Her brow ridges were thin and delicately shaped. Ben turned as she looked up, smiled slightly at him, them looked back to her optipad. Ben looked over at Ialien again, and decided that she was the one to talk to.
Ben slid into the seat next to her. Ialien looked up and smiled at him.
"Watcha doin' there young lady?" Ben said with a swagger.
"I am studying for the Officer Advancement Exam." Ialien replied quickly, turning back to the datapad.
"I'm impressed . . . Cadet! What are you aiming for?" Ben pressed on.
"I am taking the test for promotion to Second Lieutenant." Ialien answered, not looking up.
"Second Lieutenant, not Ensign? You're moving right along, aren't you?"
"You could say that." Ialien finally looked up at Ben, giving him a short, but warm smile.
"Y'know, I was where you were once. I'd be careful if I were you. The written part is easy, but watch out for the simulation tests, they'll kill you if you aren't careful!"
"Yah, I know!" Ialien answered, smiling again. She let the padcomp fall into her lap, forgotten. "I didn't quite get your name."
"Me, I'm Ben Lewinger, Lieutenant Ben Lewinger. And that is sir to you, young lady."
"I am pleased to meet you, sir," Ialien said with mock gravity. "You look a little old to be a Lieutenant." The girl added, regarding Ben carefully.
"I do? Would that be a problem?" Ben's smile stiffened on his face.
"Oh no!" Ialien answered. "Well, I wouldn't worry too much about it if I were you." Ialien's smile faded.
"Thanks." Ben answered.
"No problem. But I have to study." Ialien picked up her padcomp, and quickly became absorbed in it.
"No hard feelings?" Ben took the girl's hand. She looked at him coolly and slowly withdrew her hand.
The pilot came over the intercom to announce that the insertion burn to catch up with Risinger would be coming up shortly. Ben sighed, returned to his seat, and strapped in as the shuttle came out of free-fall.
Dateline: 24810416.2022, USS Risinger, outside Captain Risinger's quarters. Ben stood stiffly stood in front of Captain Risinger's quarters, his face a calm mask. There had been nobody to greet him at the hangar deck, apart from a junior Security officer who ordered him to report to the Captain's Quarters immediately. Momentarily, Ben scowled, he knew this day wouldn't end well.
Time to face the music, he thought, taking a deep breath, stepping forward and pressing the call plate.
For several moments, there was no answer. Ben pressed the call plate again, and finally, Captain Risinger answered.
"Come in." The tinny voice emanating from the speaker sounded clipped, businesslike.
Ben tapped the switch and the door opened to reveal the Captain's softly illuminated quarters. He paused at the threshold to take in the surroundings.
"Please, come in." Captain Risinger repeated, watching him intently. Ben stepped in and let the door close. She stood and walked toward Ben. Ben discretely looked away from Laura's eyes.
"Lieutenant Benjamin Lewinger reporting for duty, ma'am," he said, coming to a stiff attention.
"You're late, Lieutenant," Captain Risinger replied, her face emotionless.
"I . . . apologize for my lateness, ma'am," Ben started to reply. Captain Risinger abruptly held up her hand, halting Ben in mid-sentence.
"Lieutenant, there is no need to explain," Captain Risinger started sternly. For several moments she merely looked at Ben. Then, her expression changed. The cool professionalism was gone, replaced by a friendly, open expression. She smiled at Ben and said: "I brought it on myself to have you transferred here. I could afford the wait. It's good to see you again," Laura said, smiling again.
"It's good to see you again too, Captain." Ben said, with a nervous grin, looking at Laura. She hadn't changed much since he last saw her. The same long strawberry-blonde hair, the same warm brown eyes, the same trim, youthful figure.
"Laura, please. I haven't seen you a long time." Laura smiled a warm, disarming smile. Ben's remaining tension vanished at once. This might turn out to be better than he had originally thought.
"How are you doing Ben? You've had a chance to see the ship on your way up."
"It's . . . big," Ben replied. The Risinger was a Star- class vessel, over 4000 meters in length. It could carry a crew of up to 26,000. It was over ten times longer than Ben's old ship, the Catron. "I hope I will be able to fit in here," he added, trailing off.
"Ben, don't worry," Laura replied. "Alejandro needs a new Engineering Chief of Staff. The Ben Lewinger I remembered was a motivator. That's just the kind of person I need on this ship right now," she said, clasping Ben's hand between hers. She looked up at him.
"Oh Ben, you're not still worked up over what happened on the Catron , are you?"
Ben looked down for a moment. "Yes I am," he replied. "It's hard . . . I started it, and Kate was hurt because of it," he said, slowly shaking his head.
"Ben, you mustn't worry," Laura started. "You may have injured Kate physically, but you didn't hurt her respect and admiration for you. Who's signature do you think appears under mine on those transfer orders?"
"Really," Ben askied, looking up.
"Yes," Laura replied with a smile. "She could've let them transfer you planetside. They would've stuck you in some clerical pool, sifting through paperwork until you got sick of it and left Fleet. Yet, she didn't, Ben. She contacted me, and together, we convinced them to let you come here."
Ben smiled nervously. "Thank you, Laura . . . I should thank Kate too."
"No need, Ben," Laura replied. "She assured me your time aboard the Catron was thanks enough. And as for myself, you did something similar for me once, back when I was in the Academy," she said, a faraway look on her face.
"Comms to Captain Risinger," a clipped voice said over the comm. Laura reluctantly turned away from Ben, stepping back behind her desk. She touched a point on the screen of her deskcomp.
"Captain here," she replied, the cool professionalism back in her voice. "Go ahead, Communications."
"Ma'am, urgent communication for you from the capital. The sender identifies himself as Commodore John Wright," the voice replied.
"Clearances?" Laura asked, looking down at her screen.
"The security signatures match, ma'am. He's asking for you directly. He won't speak to either myself or Commander Arnold."
Laura nodded curtly. "Alright. Patch him through to here. I'll accept momentarily," she said, moving herself into the view of her deskcomp's holo-camera. After a moment, she looked at Ben.
"I can leave, Laura," Ben said, as Laura held up her hand. Ben stopped, looking at her.
"Ben, no. Stay here. Watch this with me."
"I don't think I'm cleared," Ben replied.
"You are, Ben. I've known you since the Academy, and I served with you, I've always trusted you," Laura replied, tapping a control on her deskcomp. One of the display panels on her wall flickered to life, well out of view of the holo- cam. On the screen was the stern visage of Commodore John Wright.
As Ben watched, Laura smiled cooly at the holo-cam. "You honor me with your presence, sir," she said, tilting her head toward Commodore Wright.
"The holo-cams do not do you justice, Captain," Commodore Wright replied, a frosty smile on his face.
"What can we do for you, sir?"
"An unparalleled opportunity has come up, Captain. The Denison Risinger is being tapped to lead a mission of historic importance."
"How soon," Laura asked. Ben heard a hint of worry in her voice.
"Before the end of the week, Captain. Time is of the essence here. I'm ordering you to board a shuttle for the capital at 0600 tomorrow morning. I will brief you when you arrive."
"Commodore, sir, you know that the Denison Risinger is scheduled to enter drydock for maintenance and upgrades. Most of the crew are either ready for leave, or for rotation to the next assignments on their tours," Laura replied, a hint of exasperation in her voice. Ben knew that most junior Fleet officers changed postings every eighteen months. Disrupting that cycle on a ship with 12,000 crewers would create a clerical headache for months to come.
"All leaves and transfers have been cancelled Captain. You will know more tomorrow. I will look forward to meeting you in person. Wright out," the Commodore said, terminating the transmission.
Ben stepped over behind Laura, looking at the Federal emblem displayed on her deskcomp.
"That was interesting," he said. "And not very good news, if I understand correctly.
"You do," Laura replied with a sigh. "The only reason the Risinger is in Sol System is because we're in serious need of a refit. And we're likely going to be ordered to stand down in eighteen months as it is."
"Why?" Ben asked, eyes widening a little.
"The era of the Star class ship is over, Ben. You know it and I know it," Laura replied with a wistful smile. "The Federation is done with exploration. They can't afford the cost of maintaining these giants." After a moment, Laura shook her head, leaning back against Ben a little.
"Do you know why Commodore Wright wants us," she asked after another moment.
"The Demonoids," Ben replied.
Laura nodded her head. "I knew I was on to something when I brought you here," she said with a smile. "But that doesn't answer my question. Why us? Demonoid technology is three centuries behind ours. Their most advanced vessels were sold to them by the Rhoedians. Surely smaller vessels could do what Commodore Wright has in mind."
Ben looked ahead for a moment. "Then I must think he has something really big planned."
"That's what I'm afraid of," Laura replied.

::Notices thread has been viewed seventy times. Also notices no replies or votes in the poll.::

<Shameless thread bump>

Pressing on with the chapters:

Chapter Two: First Meeting.

Dateline: 24810417.0645, the capital of the Federation, the lunar city Winnipeg. Ben and Laura stepped out of the transport car into the broad, tree-lined square in front of One Government Loop, the sprawling complex of buildings that housed the Federation government in it's awesome bureaucratic glory, as well as the offices of a large number of Fleet's top officials.
That included the office of the Fleet's Chief of Operations, Commodore John Wright . . . It was the office Ben and Laura were going to spend their morning in. As they stepped into the elevator to whisk them up to the right level, Ben had some time to think. He didn't initially understand why Laura wanted him with her. He tried to argue that her executive officer, Commander Jim Arnold, should be the one to go.
Yet, Laura held firm. She told him that she needed somebody she knew she could trust. She didn't want to confront Commodore Wright alone, in spite of his orders. Ben then immediately understood his role in this matter. Laura and Ben may have been friends, but, contrary to the popular view, Laura didn't become a Fleet captain by luck. That was impossible in the modern Fleet.
Fleet's code of conduct said that an officer could have a witness during a sensitive briefing. It was always helpful if this witness was trustworthy, and expendable. This was especially the case when dealing with men like John Wright. It was on this note that the two of them stepped off the elevator, walking down the lushly carpeted hallway. Green plants lined the corridor, sitting atop a burgundy-edged deep-blue carpet. Both Laura and Ben stopped before John Wright's door, a standard Fleet sliding door, paneled in stained oak.
"You ready?" Laura asked, looking up at Ben.
"Let's do this," Ben replied, smiling at her. Laura touched the recessed comm-panel. After a moment, the door slid open and they both stepped into the office of Commodore John Wright.
Ben whistled softly as he looked around the office. It was a very large office. On the wall opposite the door, wide windows offered a panoramic view of the lunar city of Winnipeg spread out below them, and the stark lunar landscape beyond the translucent domes.
To his left was a wall with plaques, awards, certificates, and medals. They were lit by a pair of floor floodlamps and a pair of floodlamps recessed into the slightly arched ceiling. To his right was a gigantic map of the Galaxy, with all the territories of the Known Worlds and all the powers within the that vast swath of space marked in vibrant colors. There were several points on the edges of Federation territory, marked by brilliant supernova-like points. Ben immediately recognized them as the Federation's recent military victories, all of them masterminded by the man sitting at the vast mahogany desk.
"This office is designed to have that effect," said the man in the chair. The chair was turned away from Ben and Laura, it's occupant apparently looking out the window. Ben wrinkled his nose, not liking his first impression of Commodore Wright.
"Captain Laura Risinger, of Federal Starship Denison Risinger, I presume?" Commodore Wright said, his chair slowly turning to face them. Immediately his eyes came to rest on Ben. Ben tried not to draw back as he felt the intensity in the commodore's eyes. For an instant, Commodore Wright scrutinized Ben, and then narrowed his eyes. "My instructions were to come alone, Captain. We will be covering sensitive information."
"This is my engineering Chief of Staff, sir," Laura replied evenly. "The Risinger is in severe need of drydock time. If we are going into combat, he absolutely needs to know what is going to take place."
"I am aware of your ship's maintenance status," Commodore Wright replied dryly. "Yet, you know as well as I do, that Fleet is busy mothballing every Star-class supership in the inventory. I need a Star, Captain. Nothing less will do." Suddenly, Ben felt the intensity of Commodore Wright's gaze again.
"Now, what is your name? Unless you prefer being referred to as merely the Denison Risinger's engineering Chief of Staff?" Commodore Wright said, the tone in his voice clearly saying to Ben that he was an unwelcome intrusion.
"Lieutenant Benjamin Lewinger, sir," he replied, standing as straight as he could. Immediately, the temperature in the room plummeted by at least a hundred degrees as Commodore Wright's expression chilled.
"You are the same Ben Lewinger that was convicted of Assault on a Superior Officer, are you not?"
"The same, sir," Ben replied, his mood immediately sinking.
"Begging the Commodore's pardon," Laura said, taking a step forward. "There were mitigating circumstances. He did not intentionally attack Captain Leonn!"
"Yet he was still convicted, Captain Risinger," Wright replied. "Yet it is fortunate that Captain Leonn was assaulted, rather than . . . say Fleet Admiral Chianne."
Ben looked down at the carpet. He knew in his gut that his presence was going to be a bad thing. Were he a more cynical man, he would've told Laura that he told her so.
"Permission to leave the Commodore's Office," he said, coming to stiff attention. Commodore Wright looked coldly at him, but it was Laura that spoke.
"Ben, no!" Laura said, shaking her head. She then turned to Commodore Wright. "Commodore, I brought him with me because I trust him, and it is my perogative to have a witness at this briefing. You know that as well as I do," she said to Wright, her voice steely.
Commodore Wright merely nodded. "Fair enough," he replied calmly. "Time is of the essence, yet we have chosen to waste it arguing about what was in the past. Lieutenant Lewinger, you do not have permission to leave my office. Your Captain clearly demands your presence as a witness, and I will not go against Fleet traditions and regulations."
Laura nodded, giving Ben a significant look. "Thank you, sir," she said to Wright.
"Follow me to the wall map, please," John said, leaving his chair. "We have much to talk about," he said, as the map of the Galaxy zoomed in on a single patch of space, stars sweeping past in a blizzard of points. On the new map several stars glowed a baleful, pulsing red.
"These are the seventeen colonies that were attacked at our borders with the Demonoid Regency and the Associated Clans of Rhoedia. These attacks occured over the past eleven months, starting with the MarsCorp research colony at 324 Bancroft," John started, as the red points flashed brightly, one right after the other.
"Begging the Commodore's pardon," Laura interrupted, "but all the reports say there were fifteen colonies attacked."
"Not true," Commodore Wright replied. "Two of them were Fleet and Marine Spacer installations. Their existance was not public knowledge, and it will remain that way. There may be at least two additional colonies under the direct control of the MarsCorp Corporation that were hit."
"And these were all Demonoid attacks," Ben remarked quietly.
"You are quite perceptive, Lieutenant Lewinger. I can see why Captain Risinger desires you as her witness," John replied, his eyes showing only a hint of his earlier animosity. "After the Rhoedian Strike Mission of 2477, none of the Associated Clans can even think of gathering the resources or intelligence necessary to make such a coordinated series of attacks."
"Sir, there is no way the Demonoid Regency could conduct that many attacks either," Laura pointed out. "Their most sophisticated battleships could be easily demolished by one of our corvettes."
"Indeed?" John replied sharply. "I wonder if you fully read my report? All of these colonies are covered by one Fleet command, the 108th Territorial Squadron. A command which has a mean response time of at least fifteen hours. None of the colonies has any more than a basic theatre shield and some fighters protecting them."
"Even the military installations?" Ben asked, his curiosity piqued. He could easily believe that the Demonoids hit a few of the outposts . . . hell, he was there when they hit one of them. But ninteen of them?
"The Demonoids may have had Zicharion assistance in those last two attacks," John replied, fixing both Ben and Laura in his gaze. "You now see the gravity of the Federation' situation here?"
"Yes sir," Laura and Ben replied quietly. Ben searched his mind. He, like many others in the Federation, knew little of the Zicharions, other than they were an alien species that was very powerful, and not very fond of Humans, or their allies.
"How can one Star-class ship and it's supporting vessels possibly make a difference here," Laura said critically. "The attack of seventeen isolated civilian colonies in the space of eleven months would still require that they be able to field a large number of ships."
"Remember that Rhoedian Strike Mission didn't involve much more than the Star-class ship Invincible and two Heinlen-class dreadnoughts. And yet, we destroyed the shipbuilding capability of the entire Associated Clans in that one mission."
"What are you planning for this operation, sir," Laura asked, leaning forward to inspect the map. In spite of himself, Ben found himself wondering the same thing. The Rhoedian Strike Mission of 2477 was nothing less than a massacre.
In that mission, the Federation distracted the Rhoedian fleet with a feint at the Rhoedian homeworld, and then slipped another group of ships into their shipyards and laid waste to the entire complex. Almost three million Rhoedians died, a full two million of them civilians. Yet, that was the mission that made John Wright's career.
"Nothing so spectacular," Commodore Wright replied, looking back toward the map. He tapped a random point on the wall, and the map shifted and zoomed in a little more. Ben blinked, focusing on the map. The red, flashing points indicating the Demonoid attacks had shifted to the far left, and the map was now centered on some nondescript portion of space.
"What you will be attacking is this," John continued after a moment, as the map zoomed in on one of the stars. Again, the stars rushed at Ben so quickly, he almost flinched. When they stopped, their view was centered on a dark, potato-shaped object.
It was like any other asteroid Ben had seen, except for a giant chasm carved into the middle of it. The chasm was so fresh, the rock was still glowing from the energy pumped into it. Nearby, Ben swore he could spot little specks drifting around the asteroid. Except, they weren't exactly drifting. Instead, they were moving with purpose.
"This is a Demonoid Stardepot-class base," John replied, answering Ben's unspoken question.
Laura stepped closer to the map, inspecting the holographic representation of the Demonoid base. "If those are Demonoid ships swarming it, then the installation must be . . . "
"On the order of a hundred kilometers wide," Ben said, stepping a little closer to Laura, giving the map another look.
"That's right. One-hundred and thirty-seven kilometers, to be exact," Commodore Wright replied. "They started construction just before they attacked 324 Bancroft."
"Astonishing," Laura said, her eyebrows shooting up.
"Not really, Laura," Ben replied. "It's just a hollowed out asteroid."
"He's right," Commodore Wright interrupted. "Even our ancestors millenia back could have built that thing, given enough shovels," he scoffed. "What you are watching is the Stardepot as it was a month ago, before the Demonoids destroyed the Marine outpost at Endicor 7. You, and the taskforce assigned to you, will be responsible for destroying it."
"Sir," Laura said. "As primitive as the Demonoids are, they can still put a lot of defensive guns on a rock that big."
"On the contrary, Captain," Wright replied evenly. "They've been attacking our outposts to cover the fact that they've been slow in getting that installation completed and staffed. Our surviving hyperspace monitors report little traffic going in and out of that system."
"So you want us to destroy the base before they get it online, is that it?" Laura asked, her eyes on Commodore Wright. Ben narrowed his eyes a little as Wright drew back. Ben immediately got the feeling that wasn't all Wright wanted to do.
"Not exactly, Captain," Commodore Wright replied. "I am also assigning ten thousand Marines to the taskforce. Fleet won't muster the number of ships necessary to properly reduce that base to slag. They will take the base, capture as many Demonoid records as possible, then blow the base from the inside."
Laura narrowed her eyes. "That's an awful risky operation you're talking about here," she started. After a moment, she added: "sir." Ben clenched his fists, the thought of Federal Marines gave him the chills. They made up the MPs who came to break up the brawl. Ben gritted his teeth, the MPs probably did more harm with their stunguns and batons than any of the actual combatants.
"It's a risk well worth taking," Commodore Wright replied tersely. "An installation of that size can support a hefty fleet. A fleet that could concievably threaten Federation lives for years to come. Do you want that on your conscience, Captain?"
Ben stepped up to Commodore Wright. Ben easily towered over the other man, and he used that to his advantage.
"That was out of line, sir," he said calmly.
"The security of the Federation is at stake here, Lieutenant," Commodore Wright replied, emphasizing each syllable of the last word.
"Ben, stand down," Laura said, putting her hand on Ben's shoulder. "Sir, I apologize for Lieutenant Lewinger's actions," she said to Commodore Wright, after shooting Ben a very significant look. "He shares a lot of my misgivings about this mission. But, what is the timetable we are talking about here?"
Commodore Wright spared a moment to glare at Ben, then turned his attention back to Laura. "You will be underway no more than seventy-two hours from now. Time is of the essence here, Captain. I have already cancelled all crew rotation requests and the Denison Risinger is no longer on leave status. The troop transport Hyperion will be docking with your ship come noon today."
"Sir, that's not enough time. We need at least twice that to get the ship up to minimal maintenance specs, especially with a new Engineering Chief of Staff!" Laura said, the exasperation clear in her voice.
"Do not expect to find much more sympathy in me," Commodore Wright replied coldy. "This is a very straightforward operation, Captain. Once it is over, we will all be able to rest easier. But, not before then." He gave Laura and Ben a sharp look. "Do I make myself clear?"
Laura's lips pressed together in a thin line. "Very clear, sir. Are we dismissed, we have much to prepare for."
Commodore Wright gave them a curt nod, watching Laura and Ben walk out of his office.
He continued to watch the door even as a shadowy figure stepped through a wall into the office. He paid no attention to the man as he swiftly walked up behind Wright. Instead, he merely smirked. He knew that occasionally, it was helpful to have a false, holographic wall, useful for concealing spies, such as the one who now stood next to him.
"You heard it all, Major?" He asked, turning to face the map of the galaxy.
"Yes I did," replied the spy. He looked like a man who could've stepped right out of a Marine recruitment holo, right down to the powerfully muscled figure, and the close- cropped dirty blonde hair.
"Your thoughts?"
"You were right, Captain Risinger is safe. Lieutenant Lewinger, on the other hand," the spy said, narrowing his eyes.
"Very observant, Major Dohlman. Captain Risinger's chief assets are her intelligence and unwavering loyalty to the Federation. It is why I tapped her for this mission," Commodore Wright replied. "She will very likely walk right into the trap we have laid for her." Finally, he looked at Major Dohlman. "The arrangements have been made?"
"Yes, you will find that the information security for this mission has been exceptionally leaky," Dohlman replied grimly.
"Good work. Remember, Major, our work is essential to preserving security and order within the Federation," Wright said curtly.
"Yes," Dohlman replied. Commodore Wright gave him a curt nod.
"What of our resources inside?"
"All the ships have our personnel aboard. Fifty operatives will go aboard the Risinger, and join the Marines goin with her. Things will go according to plan," Dohlman replied. Commodore Wright scowled.
"Things never go according to plan, Major. That was the second thing you should've learned," he said, barely raising his voice. "Watch Lieutenant Lewinger carefully, and be prepared to neutralize him should he interfere with our main goal."
"Affirmative," Major Dohlman replied, nodding slowly.
Commodore Wright took a couple of steps away from Dohlman, turning quickly to face him, standing stiffly.
"The troop transport Hyperion departs for the Risinger, within the hour, Major. I trust you will be aboard it."
Major Dolman snapped to attention, saluting Commodore Wright crisply. "Yes sir. Permission to be dismissed?"
"Granted," Commodore Wright replied, returning the salute with one equally as crisp. "Remember the watchwords."
"Order and security," Major Dohlman replied, turning to leave.

Chapter Three: En Route.

Ben watched as the loading door swung shut on the shuttle in the center of one of the Risinger's many hangars. The shuttle contained the last contingent of engineers and technicians temporarily detailed to the ship to get her ready for the mission ahead.
With a scream, the shuttle's engines powered up, preparing to blast the vessel out of the hangar. Ben knew the ship was on a tight schedule. Already, the other ships in the taskforce were boosting for their hyperspace entry points. All that was left to do was for the Risinger to break lunar orbit and do the same thing.
With a sudden roar, the shuttle pushed off from the deck and shot out of the hangar into the black of space beyond. Ben was briefly buffeted by the force of the shuttle's departure. Quickly, he smoothed his hair and brought his wristcomm, a small radio transmitter looking much like an old-fashioned wristwatch, to his lips.
"Lewinger to Bridge, they're away," he said, squeezing the activator switch on the side of the wristcomm.
"Thank you, Ben," Laura replied sweetly. "I believe we are now ready to get underway."
"That's right," Ben said. "The shuttle should be clear now," he said, unconsciously nodding.
"Then we will be underway to our hyperspace entry vector. Estimated time to arrival, approximately five hours and four minutes. Bridge out."
As Laura's voice faded away, Ben felt the rumble of the ship's engines beneath his feet. Outside the open hangar, Ben watched as the limb of the Moon started to rotate and curve as the ship broke orbit and began to accelerate toward's it's hyperspace entry point, a billion kilometers away.
"All hangar bays will now be secured. Please vacate the hangar bays," a clipped, male voice called out over the comm. Ben watched as the hangar bay doors silently slid shut before he turned to leave. As he slipped into the corridor, Ben had time to think about the last couple of days.
Much to his amazement, the Risinger was actually in fighting condition. Commodore Wright had engineering teams waiting for him and Laura when they returned to the ship. With their help, the Risinger had gone from a ship that was in dire need of a refit, to one that would be in dire need of a refit in three months.
Still there were a few things that disturbed him. Among the things Wright's technicians did not do was replace the ship's torpedo complement. All Federal ships used energy torpedoes with antimatter warheads. Over time, the antimatter leaked out . . . a few atoms here, a few atoms there. It meant the weapons gradually lost their potency, and they tended to become increasingly radioactive and unstable as time went on. Usually when a ship underwent even a fast overhaul, it's remaining missiles were replaced or recharged.
As Ben stepped out into the corridor, he immediately felt several hostile pairs of eyes upon him. That was the other thing that was bothering him. Ben nodded curtly at the eight Marines standing up against the wall. The Risinger had become a troopship. Almost four-thousand Marines had been loaded onto the ship. Four-thousand smug Federal Marines aboard a Fleet ship. Ben shook his head sadly as he turned a corner . . . there were going to be a lot of fights before the ship ever got close to facing the Demonoids.
Suddenly, Ben found himself face-to-face with a man as tall as himself. The man was muscular, and obviously a career Marine, complete with closely shaven dirty-blonde hair and cold blue eyes, that looked on Ben with contempt and a healthy dose of suspicion.
"Pardon me, sir," Ben said, quickly noting the major's leaves on the man's collar. He tried to step past the Marine, eager only to get to Engineering.
"You seem like you're in a hurry . . . Lieutenant," the Marine officer growled. "Clearly in too much of a hurry to watch your step."
Ben paused and squared his shoulders. "And you, sir, are clearly too impressed with yourself to know that the world doesn't revolve around the Marines," he said, a sudden thrill going through him. He knew about the eight other Marines somewhere down the corridor. What he was doing was very risky. While Marine brutality was very real, Marine arrogance was usually a facade . . . with stress on usually.
The Marine narrowed his eyes at Ben. "You walk a very dangerous line, Lieutenant. It is going to be a long two weeks . . . it would be unfortunate if you continued to not watch your step."
"I'll keep it in mind, sir," Ben replied nonchalantly.
"You do that, Lieutenant," the Marine started, glancing down at Ben's nametag. Immediately the man's eyes narrowed. "Lewinger, hmmm. I've heard of you. A disgrace to your uniform," the Marine spat.
"You're not going to bait me, Major Dohlman," Ben replied, glancing at the man's nametag. "You're right, it's going to be a very long two weeks. Keep this up, and I can have it so you'll spend them in confinement . . . sir."
"For somebody who can so easily disgrace his uniform, you're certainly quick to hide behind it," Major Dohlman replied curtly. "Remember, Lewinger, we'll be watching you."
Before Ben could come up with a reply, his wristcomm beeped. An instant later, he heard the reedy voice of his superior, Commander Alejandro Sanchez, the Risinger's Chief of Engineering.
"Lieutenant Lewinger, you were to report to Engineering the moment the Risinger broke orbit. I don't see you here."
Ben squeezed the wristcomm to reply. "Marine troubles, sir."
"Not my problem, Lieutenant. Get down here."
"Aye sir," Ben replied, looking up, only to notice that Major Dohlman was already gone.

Dateline: 24810420.1410, Main Engineering Deck. Ben stepped out of the lift into the massive complex that was the ship's main engineering level. All Federal ships had a Main Engineering Level, responsible for coordinating the ship's propulsion and power systems. On a ship as large as the Risinger, the 'level' sprawled across eight decks and occupied more than two full sections. Even the main control center, the "brain" of the MEL, was built on large scales. It was a large, very brightly lit room with consoles all along the walls, staffed by almost sixty crewpeople.
It was an impressive sight, and it never failed to awe Ben, no matter how many times he had been in Engineering for the last three days. He quickly made his way to the central island, upon which perched a giant holo-tank, a structure capable of displaying truly three-dimensional images.
As he expected, there was an aging man with a thick, portly body watching a representation of the Risinger rotate serenely in the holo-tank. Slowly, the man turned around, beady brown eyes peering out at Ben from a tanned, heavily worn face.
"It's about time you showed up, Lieutenant," Commander Sanchez growled, narrowing his eyes at Ben.
"You already know the reason, sir," Ben replied, taking a few moments to watch the holo-tank.
"And I already told you that it's not my problem," Sanchez replied curtly, tapping at the holo-tank's control panel. In an instant, the image inside changed.
The hull of the virtual Risinger faded to near transparency as the holo-tank zoomed in on the aft quarter of the ship, revealing the convoluted structures of the ship's hyperdrives, it's sublight propulsion engines, and the skeletal corridors and bays of the Main Engineering Level.
"This is my problem, Lieutenant," Sanchez continued after the image started to slowly rotate again. "And, when I do as the missus says and purchase a share in a groundside farm, it will become your problem . . . if the Risinger is still in service then."
Ben's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "Is there a problem here, sir?"
"Of course there is. Unlike an ordinary Fleet ship, there's always something wrong with the Risinger," Sanchez replied, leaning closer to Ben. "Of course you know what they say about Star-class superships . . . a hodge-podge collection of a thousand potential catastrophes waiting to happen. Armageddon in a titanium bottle."
Ben nodded patiently. He already knew Commander Sanchez well enough to wait out the initial tirade.
"Our hyperdrives are pushing Factor 13 to make it to that Demonoid outpost before our window closes."
"But we're capable of over Factor 30," Ben interjected quickly. Sanchez nodded, a look of annoyance crossing his face.
"Factor 30.897, to be exact. But the last time we pulled that was right before the ship entered active service, when we were trying to set the record. Since then, we've been dashing all over the Known Worlds," he said, turning to look at Ben again. "You should know the one flaw of all Federation hyperdrives, Lieutenant."
Ben nodded, the appropriate answer quickly coming to mind. "Almost no Federation hyperdrive can tolerate being pushed past Factor Eight."
Commander Sanchez smiled mirthlessly. "No Federation hyperdrive can tolerate being pushed past Factor Eight. I mean, sure we have drives that can go faster for short periods of time. And the way we've been extending that time is to make the hyperdrives bigger. Hence the Star-class."
"But even a ship like the Risinger has it's limits?" Ben asked, starting to realize what Sanchez was saying.
"That's right," the older man growled in reply. "It doesn't help that some of the smaller ships in the taskforce are riding on our hyperspatial wake."
"You're telling me we may need to drop out of hyperspace before we reach the Demonoid base?" Ben asked quickly, before Sanchez could ramble on.
"That's right, Lieutenant. We will need to make at least one stop-over before we reach the target," Sanchez replied. He then leaned closer to Ben again.
"Do you know what makes me curious about this whole situation?"
"Sir," Ben replied carefully, waiting for the older man to tell him.
"It's the way Wright's technicians conducted this fast overhaul. It's like they did the absolute minimum amount of work the could do while they were here. They didn't spend as much time as I wanted on our hyperdrive coils, for instance."
Ben nodded gravely. "I noticed that too. We didn't get our warheads refueled, nor did they upgrade and re-calibrate our sensors."
"It was a half-assed job, Lieutenant. I would've expected more out of a team of green recruits in three days," Sanchez growled, narrowing his eyes. "Then again, I guess they only need the ship to last eighteen more months anyway," he scoffed, stepping away from Ben.
Ben nodded slowly, taking a couple of steps back himself. "I imagine Laura wants a report?" Ben asked, immediately wincing at his slip.
Commander Sanchez narrowed his eyes again. "I would imagine so, Lieutenant . . . what's up with you and her anyway?"
"We've known each other for a long time, that's all, sir."
Sanchez seemed to accept this. "Not my problem, Lieutenant. Go make your report . . . and try not to trouble our new passengers."

Dateline: 24810420.1420, Command Level. Ben felt the lift come to a halt with a jolt. As the doors slid open, he knew he was on the Risinger's command deck. The ship's bridge was buried deep in the ship, surrounded on all sides by armor capable of withstanding a close torpedo hit. As he stepped out into the corridor, his body tingled as he stepped through the first of three security scanners. At the other end a pair of heavily armed guards in full-body armor watched him, blasters at their sides.
Ben nodded at the two guards and continued down the corridor, passing two off-duty officers on their way to the lift. He turned the corner, stepped through a door, and found himself inside the Risinger's bridge. Across from him were the gigantic viewscreens which gave the ship's command staff views of the space around the ship. The bridge had two levels, the command level, which he was on, and the crew pit, where up to twenty technicians monitored the ebb and flow of countless terabytes of vital data.
He quickly spotted Laura, who was leaning on the rail and looking down into the crew pit. Quickly, he made his way over to her side.
"Laura," he said. Immediately, Laura turned to look at him.
"Ben," she replied, "I was wondering when you would show up. Commander Sanchez told me to expect you," she said with a smile.
"Ah yes," Ben said. "I'm here to deliver the Engineering report," he finished clumsily.
Laura nodded. "Alright. What do you have for me?"
"We're spaceworthy again, but Commander Sanchez and myself agree that the repairs were poorly executed," Ben replied quickly.
Laura's expression darkened slightly. "Go on?"
"I'm going to quote Commander Sanchez on this one, Laura. He thought a team of cadets could have done a better job," Ben said.
Laura smiled after a moment. "Alejandro Sanchez runs a very tight ship, Ben. I'm not too surprised. He's got a lot of experience under his belt . . . it's given him a well- developed sense of paranoia."
"I think you should read his report," Ben interjected quickly.
Laura nodded. "Of course I will, Ben. But I'm confident that you and Alejandro will be fully able to address any problems that come up," she said, stepping up to Ben, patting him on the back.
"Thanks," Ben said, looking out over the bridge. After several moments, Laura spoke again.
"How is this for you, Ben?"
"This assignment?" He said, snapping out of his reverie. "It's different. It's nothing like the Catron was."
Laura laughed softly. "You always had a talent for understatement, Ben. But don't worry. You're among friends now."
"Thanks Laura," Ben said in reply, smiling a little. Quickly, Laura reached up, squeezing his shoulder.
"Ben, the past is in the past. This is the present. Learn from the past, but live in the present," she said, patting him on the shoulder again. "We've got some time to kill. Take a walk with me after our shifts end, I'll show you around," she said with a smile.
"Really," Ben said, grinning a little.
"Yes," Laura replied. "I'll show you that differences can be a good thing."
"You'll show me all the good spots?" Ben asked, his mood warming.
"Now there's one thing you'll have to learn," Laura said with a tone of mock-seriousness. "This ship is just too big to have just a few good spots. But, as I told you, Alejandro runs a tight ship. He'll be expecting you back any minute now."
"I have noticed that about him," Ben replied, grinning. "But we're still on right? After your shift?"
"Of course," Laura replied, smiling. "I'll see you then."
A young technician in the crew pit watched surreptitiously as Ben made his exit. With a few deft keystrokes, she pulled up the bridge surveillance logs for the last fifteen minutes. Quickly, she selected the appropriate video of Captain Risinger and Lieutenant Lewinger conversing. She added in audio taken from listening devices concealed during the three day retrofit of the ship and briefly diverted the datastream from it's ordinary flow.
Many hundreds of meters away, deep in the bowels of the ship, a flicker at the corner of Major Dohlman's vision prompted him to look up. This clued the datajack buried in his skull, and intertwined in his brain, to play the video the technician on the bridge just recorded. Immediately he frowned, for what he suspected was just confirmed.
Things never go according to plan, Major, Dohlman heard Commodore Wright say as the memory immediately bubbled to the surface. Quickly another memory made it's way to the top, Andrew Dohlman was blessed with near-photographic memory.
Watch Lieutenant Lewinger carefully, Commodore Wright had said shortly after that. Dohlman had done just that, and now he just confirmed what he suspected, Ben Lewinger and Laura Risinger's relationship went past that of old Academy chums. And already Lewinger, and the Risinger's chief engineer had noticed that something was amiss with their refit. Something would have to be done, but now wasn't the time . . . it would simply have to wait.

Dateline: 24810420.2050, USS Risinger: Observation Lounge Fifteen. Ben stood quietly with Laura, leaning against the rails designed to keep him and other visitors at an ideal distance from the gigantic picture windows on the observation decks.
This particular lounge was located a little more than halfway along the Risinger's hull. As a result, they had a view of the front half of the ship stretching out before them, illuminated by the flickering and shifting light of the mottled space around them. The ship had entered hyperspace more than an hour before, and was now making it's way toward it's final destination. Around them, the other ships in the taskforce seemed to flicker in and out of existence as simple ghosts.
"Some say watching hyperspace can drive people insane," Ben said quietly.
"Instant elsewhere," Laura replied offhandedly.
"Hmmmm?" Ben said, looking up, his reverie interrupted. "We're jumping in and out of realspace, thousands of times in a second," Laura replied. "Thousands of little snippets of light are coming our way, each having almost nothing to do with the others."
"It's chaos, the insanity of hyperspace," Ben said in awe.
"Ahhh, but there's order beneath it all," Laura replied with a slight smile. "All those little snippets paints a little piece of the big picture. Like painting by just randomly flicking paint at the canvas. Do it long enough, and you start to see the whole picture." "Oh?" Ben replied, looking at the mottled space around the ship.
"Just try it," Laura said, her smile broadening a little.
At first all Ben saw was the usual chaos. But, he found if he let his eyes unfocus, then he could just make out the flickering smudges of individual stars. Each little smudge was very slowly moving, though he knew that each small movement meant an astonishing leap forward for the Risinger. A slightly brighter swath of sky marked out the Milky Way, painted in dusky shades of twilight blue.
"Whoa, you're right," Ben said, leaning back. "It just leaps right out at you."
Laura laughed softly. "You never watched hyperspace much, did you?"
Ben shook his head slowly. "Not at all. I was always busy making sure that the engines did that thing they were supposed to do to make it possible for my captain to watch hyperspace," he replied breaking out into a grin.
Laura laughed again. "We haven't done this since I was your student at the Academy, Ben."
"Except I was always on the giving end . . . I think this is the first time I'm officially on the recieving end," Ben replied, grinning again.
"I really have missed you," Laura said.
After a moment, she spoke again. "Really, I have. You were one of my most influential instructors, and one of my best friends at the Academy. I wouldn't have become an officer if it weren't for you."
"And look at me now," Ben replied quietly, looking out the window.
"Look at you, you've had a minor setback. It's okay now, Kate's forgiven you, and I've taken you under my wing. This isn't like you, Ben," Laura said, putting her hand on his shoulder. "Don't let your own doubt eat you up inside. You taught me that once!"
Ben nodded. "You're right," he replied. "I guess I've been taking it harder than is needed."
Laura smiled. "That's right Ben. You're among friends now. Start acting like it . . . and that is an order," she said with mock gravity.
"Aye captain!" Ben replied with a mock expression of shock on his face. For several moments, they both stood silently. Then Laura sighed and spoke again.
"Ben, I didn't only call you down here to reminisce about the old school days."
"Oh?" Ben said, turning to face her.
Laura shook her head. "I looked over Commander Sanchez's report after you left. You both may have something here."
"We do?"
"Yes," Laura said quietly. Ben looked down at her for a few moments.
"Do you know why?"
Laura shook her head. "They were in a hurry, Ben. It was just as you said. And don't go believing what Alejandro told you. I've never seen better work."
Ben furrowed his brow in confusion. What was Laura trying to tell him, he wondered. No matter what she said, it was substandard engineering work. He was about to open his mouth to protest when Laura took a step away from him.
"I want you to keep this quiet, Ben," she finally said. For a moment, she seemed to struggle to find the right words to say. "This is going to be a big mission. Everybody aboard this ship is going to have enough to worry about. Whatever you have to do to rectify whatever you need to rectify, do it quietly," Laura said, he eyes bright.
"Laura?" Ben said, puzzled at Laura's sudden change of mood. For several moments, Laura was silent.
"What do you believe, Ben?" she asked, at length.
"I don't know how to answer that," Ben replied, bemused.
Laura smiled faintly. "No? Well, I'll tell you what I believe. I believe that we're doing the right thing. I believe that we're on the right side. And I want the crew to believe the same thing as well. Keep it quiet, Ben," she said, squeezing Ben's shoulder.

Dateline: 24810420.2115, USS Risinger: Crew Commons 4. A tall, slender man made his way through the sparse crowds of one of the Risinger's four large commons areas. These large open spaces inside the ship were designed to give it's crew of 16,000 a place to congregate, stretch out, and relax. For the young man it was something of a boon, one could hear a lot of ship's gossip just by wandering the commons. And, better yet, the commons weren't rigorously monitored by the ship's Security contingent, which meant that he could move about with total impunity.
Not that he had any worries about being recognized. As far as the Federation was concerned, he was just another officer in Fleet. What the Federation would never know was the fact that his current set of records in Fleet's database were all of ninety-six hours old. It cost the man's employers a full month of diligent work to bring him to the Risinger. Of course, that meant he was aboard the ship for a purpose.
His assignment was a simple one. He had to recruit Laura Risinger and bring her back to his employers. A task that would have been fairly simple, were it not for the fact that something big was about to go down. And Risinger had an old friend of hers aboard the ship, further complicating matters. Fortunately for the man, he, and his employers, were posessed of great patience. They were willing to wait for the perfect moment to act. For now, the man could only hope that he would be ready for it when it arrived.

<Thread bump, so I won't have to look so hard the next time I decide to update.>