Progressing well? Xenophon thought. How could he have trained all this time, just to be sent back to the safe zone every time a battle occurred?
“Gun crews, I need your crew to perform a full stage two service and check of all gun and capacitor system. Make sure they are ready for action in less than an hour,” ordered Lieutenant Devereux.
Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae
The skirmish out on the rim of the Nebula was nearly three days ago, and still Xenophon could not forget what had happened. He sat in a comfortable chair and watched the rest of the crew spending some time relaxing on board the station. This part of the recreation room was sparsely equipped with a pool table and a few vintage arcade machines set up. Two other officers sat nearby. One was busy watching news reports on a small video screen, and the second just kept looking into his glass of alcohol. He watched them both for a moment and then looked to the window. It was unusual to be able to stand near an actual window that looked out onto space. This particular area in the room gave him a perfect view of the stars, as well as the mysterious clouds of dust and gas that ran through this region.
“Anything on this sector?” he asked the man watching the screen. The man turned, a look of irritation on his face.
“It just says there have been three incursions by Laconian forces. All have been stopped. The media reckon we’re mobilising to fight one final battle to finish them off.”
“Interesting,” he replied.
“Really? How can we destroy them if we can’t even find their ships?”
Xenophon shrugged, unsure as to what to say or even to what he was referring to. They must be doing something right if they’d hit three groups already. As he thought on the problem, he spotted a group of officers, all wearing their more casual off duty uniforms. They made their way towards him and the other midshipman from his ship.
“Xenophon,” said Lieutenant Devereux, “very good work out on the Rim. I think you probably saved us from a nasty ambush.”
She sat down next to him, followed by another Lieutenant that went by the name Calum. Xenophon had spoken with him on several other occasions and found the man to be infuriating.
Why does the asshole have to come and sit next to me? Stupid socialist whiner from a worthless family and wants a handout without doing anything to deserve it, he thought angrily.
“Thanks,” he replied when he realised he hadn’t responded to her comment.
“What’s wrong, Xenophon? Still worried you might have to give up a few more of your family’s estate to help the rest of us?” asked Calum in his typical self-righteous tone.
“What?” he muttered back, both unwilling and uninterested in being drawn into another argument that in reality was an excuse for the young officer to rant.
“Well, from what you said last time, you think somehow your family deserves to see the rest of us struggle by.”
“Struggle? Your family could afford to put you through college, and my family’s taxes paid for the time you dodged work afterwards. What did you do after college?” he snapped back, and instantly regretted opening his mouth.
“Yeah, Calum?” asked one of the other officers, a lieutenant he didn’t recognise. The man struck Calum in the shoulder.
“If I remember right, didn’t you want to join the experimental aircraft division as a pilot?”
“Yeah, they didn’t have enough places though.”
Xenophon laughed at the comment.
“So you didn’t get the grade then? Let me guess, the system failed you?”
“You bet your arse it failed me. Any citizen should be able to train and do what they want. Sticking limits just makes it elitist.”
Lieutenant Devereux reached out and placed her hands on both of their shoulders.
“Hey, you two. Give it a rest. This is the first break I’ve had in weeks, and I don’t want to spend it listening to another argument.”
“No problem,” added Xenophon, but Calum was far from finished.
“I’m just glad the new higher rate taxes have come in so people like you can give something back. Our system needs to be fairer to people like, well, us,” he said with both hands turned inwards.
Alarms blasted at full volume throughout the recreation room. It was similar to the battlestations alert on board the frigate. Lieutenant Devereux looked around them and then outside through the window.
“Look!” she said, the tone of dread obvious to them all, apart from Calum.
Xenophon leaned in closer to the reinforced glass. There were shapes forming out there in space, and not far from the assembled Armada.
Here? We have the entire Alliance Armada assembled and ready for war. This is madness. Xenophon argued with himself.
“This is not a drill. We are under attack. I repeat. Fort Plymouth is under attack. All crew report to your stations!” called out the voice of whoever was in charge of the station right now.
Lieutenant Devereux grabbed Xenophon and pulled him towards her.
“Captain Agrippa has just sent me a call, as well as the rest of the senior officers. We’re to get to the ship fast.”
“What the hell is happening?” he replied, but she was already moving from the room. Scores of crew rushed about, some heading to the transports, and others to the stations weapon systems. The loudspeakers continued their drone.
“The primary Laconian Fleet has jumped in directly over the station. I repeat. The enemy fleet is…”
The audio cut out ominously, and at the same time the station’s artificial gravity and lighting cut. The emergency lights flickered on but gravity and communications remained off. Xenophon tumbled along the corridor, his momentum keeping him moving until he struck the wall with a crunch.
This is insanity. We can’t lose like this.
Lieutenant Devereux was having none of it. She was at the wall and ripped open a panel to reveal a small lever. With a quick tug, she yanked it back. Lights flashed in the corridor and partial gravity was restored. It was no more than a third of normal, but it did make movement more manageable.
“Look, the emergency override will only run for about an hour. We need to reach the lower level docking arm. It’s over there,” she explained.
“Yeah, I know the way, come on!”
As they bounced and jumped along the corridor, a number of dull rumbles shook the station. At first they were gentle, but the reverberations quickly spread through the innards of the structure. Xenophon couldn’t see anything, but he knew full well what was happening.
We’re being bombarded. Yet he felt calm, even serene. Something that surprised him more than the actual attack itself. It was a sensation he had never felt before, even during his brief time aboard his frigate. Perhaps it was the inevitability of an attack as massive as this one, more likely he was so pumped up on adrenalin that he didn’t know any better.
CHAPTER THREE
Fort Plymouth, Aegospotami Nebulae
The shuttle was packed with crew from Plymouth Station. Every man and woman was desperate to leave the station and had left equipment, weapons and even clothing behind in the panic. Some were keen to return to their ship to fight, but most were more than likely terrified at the prospect of being stuck on a station they could do nothing to defend. This far out in space, the outpost was on its own. There was no planet or hilltop to retreat to. If the base were captured, you would either be killed or become a prisoner of the Laconian League. A fate that was truly worse than death. At least, that is what their instructors and commanders reiterated every day.
More like they don’t want us abandoning our posts, deserting or simply refusing to fight, thought Xenophon
