A Galaxy Unknown (4 page)

A Space Marine Corps was created to provide ground forces for special situations, and to perform as security personnel aboard all SC warships, bases, and space stations. The Corps had no interstellar fleet of its own, but all SC warships carried detachments of Space Marines, landing craft, and fighters. SC troop transports would be used for deployments when larger forces were involved.

The Supreme Headquarters for Space Command was also located on Earth, and upon enactment of its charter by the Galactic Alliance Council, it immediately assumed command of all colonial military bases off-world. While owing its creation, funding, and continued existence to the Galactic Alliance Council, Space Command would for the most part operate independent of that body as it enforced interstellar adherence to GA laws.

The chief governing body within Space Command is the Admiralty Board. Comprised initially of ten members, all of whom have attained or surpassed the rank of Rear Admiral (Lower), the board meets several times a week to settle the pressing issues of the service. Presided over by the Admiral of the Fleet, decisions are decided by a two-thirds majority vote, although certain veto powers always remain with the AF and GA Council. The meetings are usually conducted in private, but always take place in the Admiralty Board Hall. A gallery area is available when the Board wishes to invite interested parties to view its proceedings.

Chapter Four

~ October 18
^th
, 2256 ~

Annette Carver was the first in the family to suspect that something was wrong following the horrific accident in space. Lately her daughter had been sending recorded messages every few days. When they suddenly stopped, she was immediately apprehensive. And when two weeks had passed without any response to her own messages, she could no longer contain her fears. She made her husband promise to investigate, despite his assurances that the GSC would have informed them if something had happened. As an active-duty senior officer in the Galactic Space Command, he had a certain amount of access to confidential intelligence information through fellow officers.

It only took Captain Quinton Carver ten minutes, once he began calling friends, to learn that the Hokyuu had sent an urgent, automated distress call with a position report and then gone silent. He was told that a rescue ship was on the way, but it would be weeks before it arrived at the Hokyuu's last reported position. He also learned that a simple announcement was going to be made within a few hours that the Hokyuu wasn't responding to communications traffic. His own fears for the safety of his only daughter began to increase exponentially.

* * *

Weeks later Captain Quinton Carver received an urgent personal call from a friend in Space Command Intelligence. He nodded silently as he listened to the report filed by the captain of the ship sent to investigate the disappearance of the Hokyuu. When the call was over, the six-foot one-inch officer put his hands to his face and sobbed in the privacy of his office. He refused all calls after that and left work several hours early.

Arriving in front of the comfortable two-story brick and wood frame house he and his wife had purchased when he was still a lieutenant, Carver dropped the landing pads and let the ‘oh-gee' vehicle settle the final quarter-meter to the ground. Currently between off-planet duty tours, the ‘opposed gravity' car was about the closest he came to flying these days. At best, it could only achieve twenty-meters AGL. To fly higher than that above ground level was a violation of both military and civilian traffic laws for passenger vehicles. Some people removed the factory-installed governors, or incapacitated them, but the fines for doing so were stiff, and the penalty for violating airspace above twenty-meters AGL without a pilot's license could even include jail time if the legitimate flight path of another craft was disrupted. Even worse were the penalties for driving outside the permitted traffic lanes, but that never seemed to stop certain immature adolescents whose greatest pleasure in life seemed to be buzzing homes and knocking over sat dishes on rooftops.

After sitting quietly in his vehicle for a good ten minutes, Carver climbed out and walked to the house.

"Who's there?" he heard his wife say from upstairs as he stepped inside the front door.

"Just me, dear," he called back softly, as he did every evening when he arrived home.

Annette Carver came down the stairs smiling. Although three-inches shorter than her daughter, her resemblance to Jenetta was remarkable. Her husband lowered his head as she stretched to meet him and they kissed lightly in the habitual greeting manner of all longtime married couples still in love.

"You're home early, dear," she said, as he lifted his head.

"Yes, I wasn't feeling well," he said, avoiding eye contact with her.

Annette, fifty-three, attractive and slim, but developing a little tummy from lack of exercise since the children had all moved out of the house and into outer space, scrutinized her husband's face without appearing to. After thirty-two years of marriage, she knew him well. His eyes were a little bloodshot, but she knew that he would never come home early simply because he wasn't feeling well. Before
he
left work early, he would almost have to be ill enough to be hospitalized.

"What is it, Quint?" she asked softly. Knowing that only the most serious of news could account for his demeanor, she asked, "Is it about Jenetta?"

He exhaled loudly and grimaced powerfully before closing his deep blue eyes briefly and nodding. His throat had constricted and he couldn't utter the words that he had been practicing all the way home.

"How bad?" she asked, her concern growing immeasurably as she watched his face.

His continued silence, and the failure of his red-rimmed eyes to make contact with hers, was answer enough. It felt as though someone had plunged a knife through her chest, and for a few seconds she had difficulty breathing. As all her strength seemed to leave her body and her knees started to buckle, her husband grabbed her and pulled her to him. Held tightly against his chest she began to sob, slowly at first, then uncontrollably as images of her only daughter flashed through her mind. Although a grown woman and officer in the Galactic Space Command, Jenetta would always be her baby. She loved each of her sons dearly, and would grieve no less if an accident befell one of them, but few relationships are closer than the ones between mothers and daughters. It wasn't always so during the teenage years, a time when most children begin to assert their individuality and independence, but the bond had redeveloped stronger than ever as Jenetta matured during her Academy years.

Annette had always imagined that she would be strong when such news arrived. She'd steeled herself many times when she'd heard that there had been a death aboard a ship to which her husband or one of her children was posted, but it had always been someone else's spouse, or someone else's child. Space was a dangerous place, and life in the military made it ten times more likely that death or serious injury would occur, but even knowing the dangers didn't help you accept the fact when it happened.

Quinton held his wife until she was able to stand on her own again, then walked with her to the living-room sofa. As they sat together, he tried to comfort her, all the while working to keep his own emotions in check. He felt that he had to remain strong for her sake.

They sat like that for almost twenty minutes as Annette wept. Finally, she was able to ask, in between sobs, "What happened?"

"Her ship exploded," he said when he could find his voice. "They either don't know why yet, or haven't released that information. A rescue ship picked up all the escape pods, but apparently, Jenetta never got out. They searched the area out as far as a pod could have traveled in the event of a retrorocket malfunction, but they didn't find any sign of her. She's been officially listed as ‘missing and presumed lost.' The search has been called off."

"My poor baby," Annette sobbed, as she began weeping again.

* * *

Over the following weeks, Annette spent most of her time sitting alone in Jenetta's bedroom, looking through the mementos and personal items that her daughter had valued enough to save, and in some cases, prize. There were scholastic awards, souvenirs of trips and events, and dozens of data rings containing anything and everything about space outside Earth's solar system. There were even a few personal log rings in a small acrylic box marked ‘diary,' but being encrypted, Annette couldn't view their contents when she tried them in the computer.

The room was more remarkable for the things that it didn't contain. There wasn't a single skirt or dress in the closet, or a pair of shoes with heels over one and a quarter centimeters, and the contemporary dresser yielded neither stockings nor makeup. Annette had tried to raise her daughter as she'd been raised, but Jenetta had resisted strongly, rejecting anything frilly, delicate, or feminine from an early age. No doubt, the influences from living in a military household with four older brothers were responsible in large part, but it was Jenetta's fascination with outer space that finally defeated Annette's efforts. All of Jenetta's being had been focused towards her goal, and she had agreed to put on a dress and short heels for her senior prom only because, if she did, Annette promised never to ask her again. Annette had kept her promise, and her pictures of Jenetta in her prom dress were among her most prized personal possessions. An animated enlargement of what she considered the best picture was hanging in the living room alongside the pictures of her sons, each taken on the night of
their
own senior prom.

Annette remembered with fondness the shopping trip to get the prom gown for Jenetta. They must have looked at two hundred dresses before Jenetta found one that she would wear, and that Annette would agree to. If it
was
to be the last time that Jenetta ever wore a skirt or dress, then Annette was determined that it be a memorable one. Finally selecting a lovely creation of pink silk and taffeta, after having rejected similar gowns earlier, there was either something special about this one, or Jenetta was simply tired of looking and gave in, hoping to get it over with more quickly.

After selecting the dress, it was another battle finding appropriate shoes. Jenetta wanted low heels, no more than two centimeters, while her mother wanted eight centimeters to give her five-foot four-inch daughter some height. Compromising on five centimeters, Jenetta spent hours afterward, practicing with the shoes so that she could walk, move, and dance gracefully.

On the day of the prom, Jenetta consented to have her hair and nails done at a salon, and even allowed her mother to make up her face before getting dressed. When the computer-science geek friend arrived to escort Jenetta to the prom, he couldn't believe that the vision of loveliness that greeted him was really Jenetta. So radical was the transformation in his mind, he suddenly became tongue-tied when confronted by one of his closest friends. Jenetta blushed three shades of crimson as her date tried to describe how great she looked. Before they were allowed to leave for the prom, Annette insisted that they pose for some pictures.

During the first few days following the death announcement, Annette had been unable to stop the tears that flowed so easily. Numerous items of limited pecuniary value stirred a vast reservoir of happy memories and stimulated her lachrymal glands beyond her control. But life must go on, and whether she was ‘cried out,' or had simply come to grips with the death of her only daughter, the tears slackened and Annette finally returned to her normal routine. For now, the bedroom would remain as it was. Annette neither packed up Jenetta's things, nor discarded anything. They didn't need the space for anything now that the boys were no longer living at home.

Chapter Five

~ June 6
^th
, 2267 ~

"Captain to the bridge! Captain to the bridge!"

Captain Leopold Lentz glowered at the overhead speaker and cursed under his breath as the message blared in his quarters. Perturbed by the unmistakable tone of extreme urgency in the voice, he hoped that it wasn't a ship-wide broadcast. He didn't want his anxious first officer again frightening the entire crew unnecessarily. She was imagining pirates with every distant contact. He believed that she'd fall completely apart when she encountered the real thing.

Leaping from his bed, he jammed his feet into his slippers and ran for the door. Narrowly avoiding a collision with several crewmembers in the corridor as he emerged from his quarters, he never gave his appearance in pajamas a second thought, but he did deliberately slow to a walk and compose his face before entering the ship's bridge. He noted the anxious faces in a quick scan of personnel as he walked to the security station where his first officer stood looking over the shoulder of a crewman. Both were staring at the forward DeTect monitor. He took a deep breath before speaking so that he would appear totally calm. "What is it, Gloria? Why are we stopped?"

"Contact off the larboard fo'c'sle, Captain!" Lieutenant Gloria Sabella said as she turned slightly to look at him with frightened eyes. "The navigation hazard database contains no mention of objects in this area!" Sabella's stomach was twisted in knots from fear and her voice was quaking slightly. She wished she were somewhere else, anywhere else but here. ‘
Why, oh why, did I ever accept this trip contract,'
she thought. Without hardly pausing for a breath, she added, "Looks like a small craft! It's barely registering on the sensors. It may be a stealth fighter!"

Lentz looked sedately into her wild eyes and said softly, "Calm down, Gloria. I'm sure it's nothing. What's our distance to the contact?"

Sabella looked back down at the monitor on the security console. It provided all available sensor information about the contact, including dimensions, distance, course, and speed. "Currently about ninety-six-million kilometers."

"Is the contact moving?"

"It's not under power, but it's moving. Speed is just over thirty kps. Its path will take it directly across our bow. The collision avoidance system disengaged our Light Speed drive and warns there's an imminent risk."

"Helm, deactivate the collision avoidance control for this contact. Set speed to Sub-Light-100, then slow us to Plus-10 at a thousand km. Any other contacts, Gloria?"

"Negative, sir. The screen is clear. Whoever it is, they're alone."

Roughly a third of the way between the planet Kesserith and its planned destination, Higgins Space Command Base, the ship was essentially out in the middle of nowhere. Contact with any ship in this area of space was cause for concern. The captain's unruffled demeanor helped relieve anxiety on the bridge, but the threat of the unknown still loomed large in everyone's mind.

* * *

Sixteen minutes later, and roughly a thousand km from the contact, the enormous ship slowed to ten kps for their approach to the path of the contact. Lentz, now wearing a robe retrieved from his quarters by a crewmember, ordered a CG close-up image of the object put up on the main viewscreen. Rarely a true view of space outside the ship, the images projected on the large monitor that covered the front of the bridge were normally computer-generated representations prepared from sensor data. Optically, contacts are almost invisible in the blackness of space unless there happens to be a star nearby or the ship is able to illuminate it with their outside lighting.

"What is it, Captain?" Sabella asked as she stared at the image. Significantly calmer now that the stalwart strength of her captain was there to fortify her and the bridge crew, she added, "It's definitely not a fighter." The rectangular lines of the target discounted the possibility of it being a naturally occurring celestial object.

Lentz sat comfortably in his command chair, his own eyes glued to the front view screen as they approached the object. "It could be a loose cargo container, but it looks more like an escape pod to me. Helm, prepare to match the vector and speed of the contact."

"Aye, Captain," the helmsman responded.

"Security, check all known emergency beacon frequencies. See if it's transmitting."

"Aye, Captain. Checking— Captain, the contact
is
emitting an emergency beacon signal on an old GSC frequency but even at this close range the signal is so weak that it's barely recognizable."

"That must account for the DeTect computer's initial failure to recognize it as an escape pod," Gloria said.

"Helm," Lentz said, "let's ease on up to the contact, but be prepared to run, if necessary."

"Aye, Captain," the helmsman responded nervously.

As the ship came to a stop relative to the life pod, a small, robotic tug was dispatched to retrieve it and deliver it to the enormous maintenance bay three kilometers behind the bridge. A dozen anxious cargo handlers and maintenance personnel watched the monitors intently as the automated tug scanned the pod to determine the best way to attach itself. Unable to locate any of the recessed annulus fasteners usually found on cargo containers, the tug chose to land on the pod and engage its magnetic skids. Given the wide range of materials used in the construction of pods, it wasn't necessarily the most secure form of attachment, but the automated sensors recorded a solid contact with sufficient traction for the task. The tug immediately began maneuvering its load towards the bay.

After leaving the bridge, Lentz returned to his quarters and quickly changed into his uniform. He hurried out, only to return seconds later to open his spacechest and lift out his stun pistol. The holstered weapon was strapped to his waist when he again emerged from his quarters.

Using a maglev sled to travel through the cargo freighter's spine to the forty-meter long by hundred-sixty-meter wide maintenance link-section, Lentz arrived just as the bay's large airlock was being re-pressurized. After attaching ‘oh-gee' blocks to the four corners of the pod, cargo handlers guided it to a work area where sensors would determine if the environment inside the pod was non-toxic and biologically safe. It was a standard precaution before opening any container that could potentially threaten the health and safety of ship personnel. The opposed gravity blocks kept the life pod suspended a few centimeters off the deck, making it so simple to maneuver that one worker could have done it easily. Mean-while, the pod's markings were entered into the ship's computer and it was identified as having come from a GSC Quartermaster ship named the Hokyuu.

"The Hokyuu was lost in 2256," the terminal operator read from the portable screen.

"2256?" echoed Lentz absentmindedly as he walked around the pod, noting the severe pitting and scarring of the surface. After almost eleven years in space, the pod showed signs of impact with dozens, perhaps hundreds of small objects such as micrometeorites and space junk. Although not constructed entirely from tritanium, as were the hulls of most Space Command vessels, the pod's shell offered protection equivalent to that of a Marine armored personnel carrier. A one-half-centimeter-thick titanium jacket was bonded to a two-point-five-centimeter-thick tempered steel skin. Though many times heavier than one-fifth-centimeter-thick tritanium hull plating, the three-centimeter-thick hull plating was almost as strong and considerably less expensive to manufacture. A massive length of twisted steel, which might once have been a support truss from a ship, dangled precariously from where it had penetrated the protective heat cone of the main rocket. The portion outside the cone was entangled in a fuel line from one of two small tanks, while inside it was partially melted. Obviously, it had struck the pod while the main rocket was still engaged. It was a testament to the builders that the pod hadn't been breached, though it surely could have been if the support had struck the craft in a more vulnerable location.

The terminal operator nodded. "Aye, Captain. All hands recovered except one. According to the accident report, Space Command spent three months searching for their missing crewman, an Ensign Carver, before abandoning the effort."

"It looks like we may have found him," Lentz said, "for all the good it will do; poor devil. Well, we might as well take a look at the body so we can notify Space Command when we reach Belagresue."

"Interior readings are normal," Operations Chief Rondell said, staring down at the display on the viewpad that had been plugged into the pod's exterior interface coupling. "It's safe to open ‘er, Captain."

Lentz nodded at the crew chief who then punched in the 0911 universal emergency code. To everyone's surprise, the pod's hatch latching mechanism immediately began cycling. The door opened spasmodically, indicative of the weak state of the power cells. As the interior lights flickered on, Lentz, brandishing his stun pistol, cautiously prepared to step in first. If this was some kind of trap, he intended to be prepared. The one-tenth g inside the pod took him by surprise, and he bounced upwards as he crossed the hatch threshold. Immediately releasing his grip on the pistol, he opened his hands wide and stretched out his arms just in time to prevent himself from impacting the roof with his face. It took him a couple of seconds to stabilize his movements.

A quick check of the austere interior and nose cone showed the escape pod to be empty, except for one occupied stasis bed. The transparent cover was fogged over on the inside, and the interior of the bed wasn't illuminated, but the basic outline of what appeared to have once been a human body could be discerned. Lentz relaxed, picked up his pistol, and holstered it before carefully hopping to the control console to adjust the gravity to a normal, full g. They would have to wait for the ship's doctor to arrive before disturbing the bed's controls, because the ship's chief medical officer has sole responsibility for completing death certificates.

* * *

Doctor Rebecca Erikson, carrying a small kit containing her emergency medical equipment and medicines, arrived in the cargo bay about ten minutes later. She was escorted to the escape pod and allowed to perform an uninterrupted examination of the stasis unit. Once plugged into the bed's interface panel, her medical viewpad displayed a complex assortment of health evaluation graphs and data. The attractive, thirty-six-year-old physician completed her analysis before turning to the captain.

"The chamber appears to be functioning properly, Captain. The occupant is alive and undamaged. Shall I revive her?"

"Alive? After all these years?" Lentz asked, his face exhibiting the surprise he felt. "Did you say ‘her'?"

"Yes," the doctor said, grinning, "the bio information indicates that the occupant is female. The fogged cover makes it difficult to see inside the chamber, but the medical readouts indicate that she'll most likely recover. Her small frame no doubt gave you the impression the occupant had perished; especially if you were expecting to see a large male officer."

"I see," he said nodding. The normally impassive façade had returned to his face by the time he uttered, "Then proceed, Doctor."

The five-foot seven-inch brunette nodded, turned, and pressed several buttons on the chamber's console that would begin reversal of the stasis process. The complete procedure would take several hours, so she pulled a foldaway seat down from the pod's wall and relaxed as she monitored the unit. Everyone else returned to his or her regular duties.

Left alone with her thoughts, Doctor Erikson ruminated about waking up after such a long stasis sleep. Would the rescued woman simply be grateful for being returned to the living, or traumatically disturbed over having lost so many years? The doctor wondered what her own reaction would be, should it ever happen to her. She sincerely hoped that she never had occasion to find out.

* * *

Ensign Jenetta Carver opened her eyes and blinked several times in reaction to the bar of excessively bright examination lights mounted over the bed in the ship's well-equipped sickbay. Her head throbbed and every muscle in her body seemed to be screaming for relief. But by far the worst sensation was the dryness she felt. She felt a thirst that extended from her throat to her toes. It was as if she'd been picked up and wrung out like a damp towel until every last drop of moisture was extracted. When an indistinct shape appeared next to the bed, she tried to say, "Where am I?" but her first attempt at vocalization was barely audible and totally unintelligible.

"Take it easy, Ensign," the shadowy shape said. "It's going to take a few days for your body to start functioning properly again. You've been asleep for a long time. Here, take a sip of this."

Doctor Erikson gently slid her left hand under Jenetta's head and lifted so that a cup of slightly cool and very salty tasting liquid could more easily be dribbled into her mouth. At this point, a recently awakened sleeper wouldn't even be able to use a straw. Jenetta was barely able to swallow the first small mouthful, but she finally managed. Her parched throat and tongue responded immediately and she felt able to try speaking again as soon as the doctor took the cup away from her mouth. Preparing herself, and trying to talk precisely, her query was still unintelligible, but the doctor thought she understood the word, ‘where.'

"Where
are
you?" the doctor offered.

Jenetta strained to nod her head and was successful in moving it a half-centimeter.

"You're on the freighter
Vordoth
. We're in interstellar flight between ports of call. We happened across your pod two days ago, stopped to investigate, and found you asleep inside one of the stasis chambers. The other beds were empty. Did you jettison alone?"

Jenetta struggled to move her tongue and managed a muffled "Yeth."

"Just blink once for ‘no' and twice for ‘yes.' Your tongue, mouth, and vocal cords will improve slowly over the next 24 hours. All of your muscles have atrophied somewhat from non-use, but I wanted to wait until you were conscious before beginning rehabilitation. This stasis-recovery bio-bed will feed tiny electrical impulses through your nervous system to stimulate the muscles as we begin the process of rebuilding them. It won't hurt, just tingle a little bit, but it'll be days before you're ready to sit up, and perhaps a couple of weeks before you're ready to try standing. Until then just relax and enjoy the hospitality of the Vordoth's sickbay. It'll be nice to have someone to care for. I normally only see cuts, abrasions, and bellyaches." Leaning a little closer, and lowering her voice slightly, she added, "Forgive me if I appear to be hovering a bit for the next couple of days, but I'll be staying close since you can't call out or move on your own. Okay?"