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“Hey, Rafeel. Could you meet me in the cafeteria in building 5? I need to ask you for a favor.”
1134 KDS, Coalition Stormbreaker Fortified Depot 32.
24 years after Operation Khadiim and the rediscovery of Khar-Toba.
“Ok, Ingred, I know that I’m the one who owes you favors, and you get to decide what the favors are.” I paused to think about the ask, “But isn’t ‘commanding an expedition’ usually something that’s granted as an honor rather than called in as a favor?” I was genuinely confused. Despite having worked together with Ingred S’jet throughout my time at the 5th Coalition Academy, I still could not decipher the meaning behind his request.
“Well, not this one. You’re the only person I can go to for this. No one, not even my own Kiith, can do this for me.” Ingred explained with desperation in his voice as he laid down a data pad on the cafeteria table between us, “Look, I know it’s not exactly conventional, not to mention suspicious, but I really, really need you to do this for me. I’ll even use every favor I’m owed if you can get this expedition out into the deep desert, ideally not tracked by anyone.”
I looked down at the data pad and then back toward Ingred. “Alright, fine. What’s the catch?” I leaned back into my seat. And more importantly, what’s the plan?”
Turning on the datapad, Ingred explained, “Officially, the expedition is archeological. The goal is to travel deep into the open desert to find one of the other three Khar-Toba class ships that first ferried our people to Kharak.” He punched in a password as the tablet flicked to a map, highlighting a faint sensor reading superimposed onto the terrain. “And the plan is that you’ll take the flagship out into the open desert, chart a course to the suspected crash site, and set up automated survey posts around the area and return once the derelict’s position is confirmed or when the expedition is deemed impossible.”
“And? What’s the catch? Why the secrecy?” I leaned in once again, taking a closer look at the map. The marked location is deep in the southern reaches of the Great Banded Desert, well into where Coalition Intel has pinned as Khaaneph territory.
Ingred looked around nervously before leaning in and whispered, “Because there is no crash site, I just need you to keep the flagship away from everyone and everything till I can tie up some loose ends.”
I stared into Ingred’s eyes, weighing the information, “Right, fine. So get out into the open desert untraced and evade Gaalsien remnants and Khaaneph scavengers till you call me back.” I recap the discussion so far and assume a neutral posture, “What about the flagship? What’s with it?” I queried.
Quickly tapping away on the tablet, Ingred pulled up a technical document for a crawler I don’t quite recognize, “Obviously, there’s no way I’d be able to get an actual command carrier, so I scraped together the next best thing.” The document’s title read: ‘Chimera-class Production cruiser’ “I managed to get my hands on a boneyard Warden Support Cruiser, it was a part of Kapisi’s fleet too, and retrofitted it with a production bay and Gaalsien self-repair system.” Swiping on to the next page, he continues the explanation, “Unfortunately, due to the other modifications I had to make, the production bay can’t build anything longer than forty-five meters. That means no baserunners, but it shouldn’t be a problem.”
Before he could get any further on the impromptu briefing, I interrupted, “You know this is not what I meant when I asked what’s with the flagship. We’ve been together long enough that I can read a technical manual just fine.” Crossing my arms, I looked Ingred sternly in the eyes.
Stuttering at my interruption as his nerves caught up to him once more, “ok, ok, I know,” taking a deep breath to steady himself, “it’s not exactly the crawler itself that’s the problem, and I really can’t say while we’re on base. I’ll make sure to leave a proper explanation on the crawler’s file system. Will that be alright?”
I let out a sigh as I decided that there was no point prying any deeper into whatever’s got Ingred so worked up, “fine, just a few more questions.” I uncrossed my arms and leaned over the table once more, “If it’s heavily modded Warden-class, then we’re looking at at least twenty crew, not counting whoever’s driving the rest of the fleet. Do you have a crew ready, or do I need to gather my own? Putting sand in that many people’s eyes for that long’s gonna be a challenge even for the best Manaan politician unless you can get everyone onboard with it.”
Ingred shifts nervously, “There won’t be any other crew.”
“Wha-” I tried to ask, but was immediately interrupted.
“Not on the flagship or for the rest of the fleet when you build them.” He quickly adds to his answer.
Exasperated, I exclaimed, “There is no way I can operate an entire cruiser solo. Even the LAVs need a crew of three, and you’re telling me you want me to run an entire…” A sudden realization hit me. “What was your field of study again?”
“Computational sciences. Why?” Just as he finished answering my question, he quickly raised a hand to silence himself, looking away with guilt.
“No, you didn’t,” I muttered, clenching my fists before forcing myself to relax. Shaking my head, “You’ve saved me enough times in the academy, twice my pride, and once my life. Not to mention the mistakes I would have made without you.” I pick up the tablet and skim through a few more pages of the technical manual. “I’ll go and bury your secret out in the sands. You better tie up those loose ends of yours before I lose my mind from solitude.” I put the tablet back down.
Turning back to face me once more with hope in his eyes, “Right! I will.” He replied with enthusiasm, “And… umm… Thank you. For agreeing to help me.” Tapping away on the tablet, “In five days’ time, there’ll be a metallic sand storm rolling in; meteorological reports say that it’s a special one in that it contains a great deal of rare metal if we time your departure…”
“And they’ll track me through the storm regardless while I pat myself on the back.” I interrupted, “The sensor relics Kapisi brought back advanced our sensor technology enough that a metallic sandstorm isn’t nearly enough to hide an entire cruiser. That better not be the best plan you have.”
“Right, which is why I’ve preloaded a plasma warhead blueprint onto the fabrication systems.” The tablet now displayed a series of graphs, charts, and meteorological maps, “hook one up to a timer and drop it out the back of the cruiser as you’re entering the storm. The timer goes off, and the payload interacts with the rare metal, starting a chain reaction that electrifies the storm. The interference from the electric storm should perfectly hide anything inside it.”
“And fry every system on the cruiser,” I interjected, “I’ve read the declassified reports from Operation Khadiim. The EMPs the Gaalsiens use could not just disrupt but even damage armored vehicles. An electrical storm of this scale would cook even expedition carriers.”
“Which is why I fitted her with auto-polarizing armor plating!” Ingred excitedly exclaims, “Sure, they’re a bit more brittle compared to standard plating, but they absorb and shunt energy well enough that it’d survive a direct ion cannon hit! Probably.”
“Does it need to survive a direct hit from the orbital ion cannon?” I ask, prompted by the boisterous claim.
“Nope!”
“Good enough,” I sighed, getting ready to leave. “I’ll collect my things and get ready to depart in two day’s time. Where will I find the cruiser?”
“Hangar fifty-one,” Ingred replieed, collecting his datapad and pulling out a chip, “Anything else you want to know besides the technical docs?”
“What’s her name?” I asked, stood up, and straightened my jacket.
Tossing the data chip my way as he stands up, “Your call. She’s all yours once you hit the sands.”
Catching the data chip and looking it over, “awfully generous of you if you weren’t just dumping problems with favors.”
“Yeah, yeah, good luck out there.”
With the last of my belongings moved aboard the living quarters on the cruiser, I stood at the edge of the hangar. In a little under twenty-four hours, I will set out on my first expedition as a graduate of the 5th Coalition Academy, not just as the intel officer but as the captain. Captain Rafeel Soban, I could get used to that.
Leaning against the wall is a series of stencils and paint cans, with just about every letter of the alphabet and even a few numbers thrown in. ‘It really is just like Ingred not being able to name anything properly. He probably ran out of ideas after coming up with “Chimera” for the class name,’ I chuckle to myself. Starting up the hangar crane from my datapad, I started loading the stencils, paint, and brushes and got to work.
One stencil after another held up to the side of the hull with tape, followed by a roller brush soaked in white paint. “ K A I I R D A ” The drying paint spells as the stencils were torn down one after another, leaving behind the cruiser’s new name, replacing the string of random numbers and letters that Kapisi’s assembly had once automatically assigned to her hull.
After clear-coating the new lettering to seal it onto the hull, I lowered the crane to let myself off. Discarding the painter’s gloves and apron, I reached the boarding ladder and made my way to the command bridge through the corridors and passing the empty quarters.
Seating myself upon the heavily modified captain’s console, I updated the transponder details. No longer will Kaiirda be known by a serial number but by a name of her own. I’m quite proud of it, even if all I’ve done for the expedition so far was put a name on a hull. Satisfied with my progress, I flicked each switch on one after another. It’s about time I get the expedition going.
“Depot 32 Traffic Control, this is Production Cruiser Kaiirda. Requesting laneway access for Expedition Ark Two.” I spoke into the comms, hoping they’d give me the slip.
“Copy that, Production Cruiser Kaiirda. This is Depot 32 Traffic Control. Be advised laneway access is currently restricted due to the pending sand storm. Estimated time of impact: less than 12 hours from now. It’s best that you delay departure till it passes.” No such luck.
“Negative. We are to gather data on this sandstorm from the inside at the request of a S’Jet meteorological laboratory. The high rare metal content is apparently very interesting. We need to be clear of the storm breaker’s walls when we hit the storm.” I lied, making a mental note to update the official expedition itinerary to reflect this when I can.
“One moment,” Tower puts me on hold as my anxiety slowly climbs with every second of silence. “Sorry about that. There doesn’t seem to be any mention of this on your expedition plan.”
“Yeah, we got the official request just this morning. Didn’t quite have the time to submit new plans for approval yet. That and also, we need to head out now if we want to be at the right place when the storm pass over us.” I expand on the lie.
The radio remained silent for a few seconds before I finally received a reply: “Copy that, laneway permissions granted, opening hangar door fifty-one.”
“Kaiirda copies, rolling out to outer perimeter.” I pull up a rolling launch checklist onto one of the auxiliary monitors, going through one task at a time.
I issued the command to switch on main power; the compact fusion reactor spins to life as it hungrily soaks up every joule of power it can before achieving ignition. Returning power to the crawler and rousing Kaiirda’s dormant control module.
With the push of a button, the various cables and hoses tethering Kaiirda down in the hangar ejected themselves from her hull with a hiss. The now-freed crawler engaged her main drives as I pushed forward the throttle. First, at a snail’s pace, the conduits and motors gradually warm up, but soon, the cruiser reaches a respectable speed.
Passing hangar after hangar, Kaiirda finally reached the outer perimeters. Just the outer doors left till she’s rolling on sand instead of concrete. “Laneway clear, all systems green. Captain has the helm. Ample clean blue on all decks. Full complement aboard.” I announced into the comms, feigning a standard expedition rollout, and brought Kaiirda to a stop just before the intersection leading out of the compound.
“Alright, running some system tests now,” I informed the tower as I switched the shutters close, letting them snap shut over the viewports and exterior elements across the crawler. “Shutter test green,” I read off the main monitor’s diagnostic before switching the shutters open again, letting sunlight flood the command bridge.
Pulling up the engineering statistics, I reported them to the tower, as is customary. “Cooling tanks online at nine point three. Power plant reading zero-six… cycling at thirty-second increments till ninety-nine at fifteen. Field auto maintenance and repair systems reporting full operational capacity.”
An alert popped up on the main monitor, notifying me that the control module has finally finished the automated checks and is now finalizing its startup sequence, fleet manager, resource control, unit status tracking, command interface, objective tracking, and sensor manager, just like how the textbooks described Kapisi’s rollout 24 years ago. Everything looks good, “All control systems operational. Transmitting resourcing and fabrication pre-test results.” Taking a deep breath, I finalize the pre-launch checklist and address the tower once more, “Traffic Control, this is Kaiirda. We are ‘go’ for launch.”
“Copy that, Kaiirda. Proceed to gate five, opening outer doors.” With the short reply from the tower, I mute my mic once more and proceed to launch.
Eleven hours since launch, the sandstorm’s nearly on top of me, and I’m starting to think that I should have packed a bigger media library. Objective tracking reads 5 minutes till storm front impact, and with that, I closed the media viewer and brought my full attention back towards the mission at hand.
Production bay reports that the plasma charge is ready to go and has been loaded into the anti-air battery. Taking manual control of the launcher, I aim the plasma charge deep into the storm, counting down the seconds to storm front impact.
With seconds to spare, I pulled the trigger on my control stick. Bearing the transponder of an unassuming instrument package, the plasma charge soared into the storm as I engaged full shutters. Metal blinds lowering over every exposed viewport as every open panel locks shut and exterior systems lock into braced positions. Then, the storm front impact alarm sounded.
The world around me shook as the storm violently impacted the hull of Kaiirda. The ninety-kilometer-per-hour winds and dust make crinkling sounds as they grind against the tightly shut shutters around the command bridge viewports.
“Any second now,” I muttered to myself, praying that the plasma charge had not been a dud, and mere moments later, an ear-shattering crack of thunder shook the cruiser.
As the storm builds in intensity, the sensor range of the cruiser shrinks rapidly till the monitors can only render two dozen meters or so of terrain ahead of the cruiser, forcing auto-navigation to slow the Kaiirda to one-tenths of her cruising speed.
A lighting bolt struck the cruiser’s armor, its impact reverberating through the structure of the crawler. Cursing under my breath, I pulled up the damage control panel onto the main monitor. Thankfully, there was no meaningful damage.
Forging onward, I watched as the last few connections to the North slowly fizzled out under the influence of the storm. First, the tight beam comms array was obscured by the sand and dust. Next, the broadband satellite link was disrupted when the first lightning arced through the air. Modulated radio produced nothing but static, producing ear-piercing screeches every with every lightning strike. Finally, external telemetry goes silent as even the most sensitive sensors and powerful communication equipment scrambled by the storm’s wakes in the airwaves.
“Objective complete, Coalition tracking lost,” I whispered to myself as I turned off Kaiirda’s transponder. Looking up at the main monitor, with no external telemetry and less sensor range than half the length of my crawler’s hull, I’m effectively driving blind. The crawler’s navigation computer has fallen back to the built-in inertial guidance hardware alone as the Star tracker cameras fruitlessly gaze up into the violent storm obstructing the sky, and the stars.
I leaned back into my seat and began formulating my next plan. First, I’ll need to plan a new route. Losing contact with Northern Command means being MIA; I need to keep it that way. I can’t get ‘rescued.’ As I tried to pull up a map to draw up new plans to evade search and rescue operations, an alert blared out from the sensor station. Routing sensor data up to the main monitor, the alert places itself front and center of the screen. ‘Unexpected quantum waveform,’ it reads.
For a moment, I wondered to myself what it meant. The next moment, a shimmering pale crimson field consumed the fore of the command bridge as it crawled over the blinking terminals and vacant consoles before all I could see was a blinding white light…
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Table of Content
- Prologue (You are Here)
- Chapter 1 – The Buried and The Forgotten
- Chapter 2 – The Hostile and the Curious
*There is no previous chapter. I should link a rickroll to it because it will be funny.
**The prologue hyperlink brings you back to this page because this is the prologue. I don’t know why you clicked it. Maybe I should have put a rickroll there.
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Interesting so far. Hope for more soon!!
Interesting yes yes