Imminent Destruction

The Haceetion Sector listed among the wastelands of the galaxy in every imperial map. Its Wom nebula dominated the region with the exception of the complete positive edge of its parameters. Hydrogen atoms pushed together into a super-heated mass at the Nebula’s heart. Massive bursts occasionally broke free, escaping to heat other loose matter. Dust clouds and space rocks congealed in purple-orange bursts.

Solid matter melted as it congealed, dust into meteors, meteors welding into asteroids. Everything slowly pulled together over eons for the hostile beginnings of a new creation. Three warp space anomalies within reasonable distances of each other made this isolated sector of space a valuable nexus. The detritus from destroyed space stations still drifted through the region.

On the edges of the farthest particle clouds, practically untouched by the gravity of the forming star, the Dorian, flagship of Harnicor’s first fleet, waited with the other cruisers. Its silvery hull gleamed over the entire two kilometer length. The edges of two 400 millimeter beam cannon, one on each side of the ship’s front spike, extended from shielded encasements. Over five-hundred, ten-millimeter, laser guns crisscrossed the hull, lightly concealed under armor. Torpedo hatches lined the undercarriage. An oblong, armored compartment directly over the center of the ship’s north hull concealed the main gun, the neutralizer.

Like satellites, the secondary cruisers kept a tight formation around the Dorian. Besides the Imminent Destruction, the mercenary group included the Werner, the Kshatriya, the Hulk, and the Garter. The Werner, an advanced pirate design known as Red Heaven’s Dragon, remained beneath the Dorian; the small red and black striped cruiser had a bubble shaped front and elongated back thrusters. No cannons could be seen on the Werner’s surface, but significant portions of the bubbles were open to reveal the red tips of small missiles numbering in the hundreds.

A massive, thickly armored, bull with threatening horns and bright shields emitting a golden glow snorted particles out its snout. The Kshatriya had a half kilometer long tail of flexible shielded titanium and carbon microfiber that whipped about as if flies itched its hide.

The Garter was a standard X-380, almost the same designation as the Imminent Destruction. In show room condition, it sported a baby blue metallic paint that enhanced the glow of its light shields. Across the Garter’s undercarriage was bikini clad pinup girl cradling a long gray torpedo. The pinup wore a time bomb garter belt, registering ten remaining seconds. Its titanium armor had been removed from around the bridge and replaced with a strong transparent polymer; anyone with a good telescope could see the crew.

The Hulk had scarred metal across the hull. The damaged X-380 missed three cannons, only one had not been violently removed. Welded strips of insulated titanium panel concealed the damage; even the windows of the observation decks were covered. The one remaining particle gun listed like a stranger prepared to fight without hope. The cruiser had two working thrusters and two others visibly burnt out.

The military had yet to reinforce the First Imperial Interstellar with regular cruisers or even destroyers. The only regular military escort consisted of two X23-type minesweepers, the Monitor and the Merrimack, and ten missile craft.

One sweeper protected each side of the Dorian, each one forty meters long and ten meters wide. They were armed with mechanical whips that could extend up to a kilometer with surgical instruments designed to dispose of mines harmlessly; they also had two highly accurate, ten-millimeter laser cannons designed for a similar purpose. The Monitor, on the left side of the Dorian, had a patch in its hull, covering a gaping fissure in the lower left side of its diminutive bridge, and both its laser guns were soot stained; one of its mine clearing wires jammed, stuck about thirty centimeters from the ship’s hull. The Merrimack fared a little better, but its left gun was covered in soot over its sleeve to indicate that the lasers gouged the barrel’s insides when fired.

Of the attack craft, five were automated boxes filled with light torpedoes; minimal drive systems made them quite slow. The other five were DXL82 patrollers, three armed with a fifty millimeter laser cannon and two more with an improvised 35mm gun that fired standard explosive cluster rounds.

Ten Karvar space superiority fighters ran tight patrols around the Dorian, reentering their fighter bay often for needed adjustments. The V shaped Karvars were a poorly designed fighter manufactured in mass quantities for minimal cost. The cheap fusion fuel used to power them made installing deep space drive systems an exercise in futility. Their range of combat remained limited to within ten and a half kilometers from the Dorian’s hull. Low powered laser guns extended from the pointed front of the crafts. The four missiles sat underneath, their cone shaped heads a passive blue.

A single Rigor 5a fighter maintained a five-kilometer distance from the Dorian’s bridge, constantly circling near the windows for the media. The Rigor 5a, the now favored replacement for the Karvars, had a crystal shaped hull, and carried a payload of fifteen sardonic type missiles with atomic cores of isolated anti-matter that released with explosive results when the missile hit its target. Fifty of these fighters sat ready in the fighter bays of the Dorian, reinforced by two hundred Karvars.

This was the muster of the First Imperial Interstellar.

-----

Curtains of royal purple draped the personal office of Fleet Admiral Igito Norima. Furniture of adorned cherry wood was bolted through the floor. Purple carpet had been dotted with specks of gold; not dye, but specks of melted gold ingrained within the fabric. Long sofas with arms that wove into delicate spirals decorated the walls to the front at the sides of the entrance. Each sofa kept the company of a coffee table with legs of elegantly carved grapevines. This grand lobby sat in the shadow of the admiral’s long desk.

A holographic portrait projecting from a golden disk displayed the figure of delicate man with thin, brittle fingers. He had brown hair combed to side, and a wide face. This was a representation of Guy Witherspoon, the holder of the undisputed, immemorial, title of Grand Senatorial Coordinator. While not on call, the holograph served as a reminder that everything would be recorded.

Admiral Norima was a middle-aged man with tired features. Dark circles hung under his slightly bloodshot eyes, and his black hair grayed about the edges. His dark blue coat displayed a brief, yet impressive collection of awards, but he wore it loosely over a comfortable khaki shirt and navy blue pants. The admiral wore sneakers. This caused considerable apprehension among the advocates of proper military attire, even though Admiral Norima took the care to make sure their color matched his pants. He scanned the other officers as they arrived before pulling a portable computer from a desk drawer. The officers were, in order of rank, Vice Admiral Vanessa Fortali, Rear Admiral Mark Tenyson, and Major Russell Green from engineering.

Admiral Norima sipped from a golden canteen labeled “Coffee Only” in deeply etched letters. He then addressed his officers, moving to the front of his desk and revealing his sneakers. A magnified view of the enemy fleet flashed on screens that expanded outwards from opening walls, a different enemy ship and classification was displayed every minute. He remained silent, encouraging them to take five minutes to examine the visual feedback.

“Vice Admiral Fortali, Rear Admiral Tennyson, Major Green, you’ve seen the visual feedback, the radar feedback, the heat maps, and the reconnaissance data. You have a good idea what we’re up against, and I’m assuming you’ve studied all the data sent to your com systems. I want the truth, not garbage propaganda. Will a direct frontal assault work against this enemy? Vice Admiral, you first.”

Tennyson was a sturdy man with a stiff upper lip. His blond hair was grayed only about the ears, but deep creases lined his forehead. He resisted an impulse to stare at the floor, yet couldn’t hold back from stroking the stubble on his chin.

“Considering our unique position, in this situation, it might be among many uncertain options. What we probably need to do is scan the enemy fleet a few more times to better ascertain their strength.”

“The reconnaissance drones are all disabled,” Norima said, “I have no craft capable of sneaking unnoticed into the enemy ranks, and our intelligence network has nothing of value on board any enemy vessel. So, I ask you, with what do I attempt to further reconnoiter the enemy fleet?”

“We should have...”

“Should have, would have, could have! The military is blinded by its pride in this old workhorse, and now we’re stuck with the ultimate price. Come out and say what you’re really thinking, Mark. I won’t throw you in a cell for being a defeatist.”

“Alright, I tried to dodge this assignment because I knew it was suicide run from the start. Our only real option is to take the First Buldethian Interstellar down with us when the Dorian self-destructs.”

“I thought you had misread the situation and joined in hopes of victory and promotion. That was, quite revealing. You’re a smarter man than I gave you credit for.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Rear Admiral Tennyson asked, “Why are you here?”

“Honestly, I thought I could manage this until I became embroiled in it. Now I can’t hope to survive it. As I see it, the only option is to explode the neutralizer cannon in the enemy’s midst. We’ll go down, but they’ll all go with us. Hopefully, the empire will see the threat and start building defenses with the time we buy.”

Vice Admiral Fortali stepped forward, “Sir, I think we have a chance for victory. May I propose a plan?”