“Sir, I fully support this course of action, but I would be neglect in my duties if I did not point out we are spreading ourselves too thin in a combat situation with an overwhelming number of enemy combatants.”
“I know what I said about no backup, but I have hopes our actions will spark a UCP response. I don’t believe we were ordered to the edge of the Summersun system to practice war exercises. I think there are those in the UCP Command who want us to uncover evidence, allowing us to engage the Mokarran. I refuse to wait for them to debate. We’re on the flagship. If it’s destroyed, the military will lose face. I grew up watching grallatorial fights on my planet. They would pit criminals against these bear creatures. If the inmate survived, he was released. The teeth would shred the criminals. Others would face off against the bears for sport or prizes. And also to show the bear could be defeated, because no criminal ever seemed to. As a teen I had to perform my required community service at the retirement facility. I discovered my favorite bear fighter was an old man in my town who I had watched all those years. As I bathed the old man, I noticed he had no scars from teeth. I saw him get bit. I watch blood. The bear’s teeth had been pulled for the noncriminal fights. I tell you this because the UCP won’t become a toothless bear. Once people see we have bite, we’ll never watch a bear fight again.”
Kantian eases into his chair, giving him a full view of the bridge. He secures his harness. The bridge officers do the same. Some even have bracers attached to the arm rests to keep their hands in place in the event the gravity fluctuates—essentially, keeping their fingers on the triggers during a firefight.
“I have the plot course you requested, Captain.”
Kantian flips open the inner-ship comm channel.
A klaxon whishes, signaling to all hands a message will follow.
“This is your captain; we have received numerous distress calls from the planet Summersun where the Mokarran are slaughtering civilians. Prepare for battle stations. We are going to engage.” Under no UCP Command orders, he neglects to add. Knowing in the end he and maybe a few of the bridge crew will face a court-martial.
He flips the comm channel off. “Ensign, activate the hyperspace engines.”
The star field visible through the main view ports ripple into streaks of light until they stream past the ship like millions of shooting stars. The stars shift into the ever-changing wavers of life. A constant shifting of light patterns consisting only inside the underlying dimension of hyperspace. The nearly six light years to the Summersun system would take even the Deliverance’s nonhyperspace engines a few thousand years to reach. With the incursion through unstable hyperspace back into normal space, traversing the six light years takes fewer than twenty minutes. Just enough time for the marines to be fully outfitted and prepared to launch in their transports. Tri-Wing pilots also prep their fighters for launch. Medical personnel report to the medical bays and secondary medical stations. Gun crews run final checks on all weapons platforms. Hazard teams visually inspect all hatchways to ensure they seal preventing full decompression of the Deliverance. Engineers divert power from all noncombat-related systems.
An Ensign with security insignias on his uniform touches a wall panel behind the captain’s station. It slides open to reveal a collection of identical blaster pistols already encased in a holster designed to fit the UCP uniform. He passes one out to each bridge officer. If the Deliverance were to be infiltrated, they would repel boarders. Kantian would never allow infiltration. He has already programed an emergency maneuver into the computer. Listed as his final battle command program, it will lock the Deliverance onto the nearest enemy cruiser and bring the engines to full thrust turning the ship into the most ancient and effective of siege weapons—the battering ram.
Kantian’s crew—trained and trained—know their job. It’s been drilled into them what they must do until they do it in their sleep. The problem—none of them have ever had to do it while being fired upon. The marines experience live-fire exercise. They even train with shock weapons that send painful bursts of electricity through their bodies when hit to remind them what it is to be shot. But not bridge officers. It could be the real reason for the secure bracers on the helm and weapons stations. If the weapons officer flees for an escape pod with the first plasma blast impacts, he would destroy all morale.
“Lieutenant, call it—two minutes.” Kantian could stop all this at the two-minute mark. It would be dangerous to abort in hyperspace, but with two minutes they could stop all weapons locks and launches and feign engine malfunction. It would cost him his command over a half-assed interstellar incident. He has to take it all the way or not at all. Forgiveness will come from his victory.
“Two minutes, Sir.”
Two minutes of guaranteed life. Some of his crew will never see the UCP again. Never see loved ones. Never taste the air of their home world. Love another. Eat. Breathe.
Two minutes until the external cold, dreamless sleep engulfs them.
Kantian faces the reality there will be no turning back. This will make him the next VP-admiral of the UCP or a traitor.
The ever-changing wavering lights flash to a star field.
Klaxons blare, warning of instant activity occurring on the Deliverance.
Fighters accelerate past the main view ports. The transport crafts speed toward Summersun. Weapons locate and lock onto the most vital or vulnerable parts of the battle cruiser.
Transpiring with lightning speed in those first five seconds of materialization, no one on the entire ship with exception of Captain Kantian notices the beauty of the Mokarran battle cruiser.
The elongated ship resembles a Mokarran on its abdomen with the hammered front and no tentacles. Three dorsal fins
