First Command (2 page)

Haggerdam New Helsinki, Solarian Republic

Governor's Residence, Blue Zone

January 21st 841 A.E. (2802) 15:00 Local time
     

Brigadier Wu Treos Commander of the Solarian Republic National Police Interior Stabilization and Support Mission New Helsinki was a man not known for his cool demeanor.  The office chair crashing through his window onto the street three stories down was evidence to that. Fortunately for the inhabitants of the Blue Zone, the fortified compound from which Solarian governed its client state, the Brigadiers reputation had preceded him and the area under his office window had a permanent perimeter of bright orange cones and a sign which read ‘Danger Falling Debris’ thus far no one had been injured. The Brigadier’s brigade commanders huddling like Terran penguins against an Antarctic blizzard were in far more danger than any erstwhile pedestrian. It was rumored that what had finally gotten then Colonel Treos drummed out of the Army was an unfortunate incident where a subordinate had followed the office furniture out the window. Turning from the now shattered window through which the oppressively muggy Haggerdam air now streamed, Treos glared at the five assembled Colonels. Each was the commander of an Interior Troop Brigade in the Western region, which included Oslo Landing and the Western highlands. Colonel Shane McMurry, CO of the 5th stood a bit apart from his comrades not by choice.

“Say it again Colonel!” Treos thundered.

McMurry, a veteran of twenty years with the Interiors and ten in the Army, did his best to maintain his cool.

“Nineteen men dead, twenty two wounded, two Piranhas destroyed, one out right, the other only good for spare parts. As far as we can ascertain the enemy suffered between ten and twenty casualties of their own.”

Treos slumped as if defeated. He paced back to his desk and sat heavily in his chair.

“Fifteen years. Fifteen buggering, ass fucking, goat humping years we’ve been fighting these bastards, and now in less than one year we’ve lost more men and equipment than we have in the entire fourteen years before put together. Treos looked at his still fearful subordinates who were not yet sure the storm of their CO’s rage had passed.

“Gentleman I intend to inform the Governor that we need further assistance, that poncy little OMI shit was right. Someone’s feeding these insurgent bastards men and munitions. As you all know the Premier won't deploy Army divisions or send a Task Force because of the Treaty with the Dominion and our agreements with the Confederacy to keep this system demilitarized to a certain extent which means any help we get is going to come from the Buddha damned Navy. God help us all.”             

Chapter I

Singking, Solaria, Solarian System, Solarian Republic

River Front District, The Blue Moon

January 25
th
841 A.E. (2802 A.D.) 07:31 Local Time

The bell tolled long and loud and clear. Jonathan Pavel opened his right eye half consciously peering through the nighttime gunk still clinging to the tips of his lashes.  The constant rumble of the bells stirred him from the silky embrace of sleep back to the world of awake with its rhythmic ”DONG, DONG, DONG” He opened his left eye and glanced at his clock, as expected 7:31 Monday morning. Father Horatio, the resident priest of St. Mark's and destroyer of Jonathan's blissful slumber, was nothing if not punctual. Jonathan rolled on his back and listened to the bells toll.

The Blue Moon was an old building four stories tall but only 20 feet wide at its widest, the narrow structure was built of wood and native stone like most of the Riverfront district. Once the historic center of trade, the Warren Estate was now the center of the Greater City of Sinking’s nightlife. Jonathan occupied the solitary fourth story room of The Blue Moon, a small 15 by 8 foot dwelling, with a tiny toilet adjoined to it, and no shower, and the entrance lying atop a treacherously narrow staircase.  “Practically a ladder.” Jonathan thought every time he ascended. Jonathan’s double paned bedroom window, whose frame was hand carved with intricately patterns of woodlands and a great beast, was directly across from the Church of St. Mark, an ancient narrow structure built during the initial settlement of River Front some 400 years ago. The church was crammed between a bawdy house and a bar, and had been labeled an official historic landmark by the Solarian Republic Antiquates Preservation Commission some eight years earlier.  Built of native stone and Terran Oak Wood beams cut from the first grove of Earth trees successfully nurtured along the banks of the Sertine River, the Church was so small it could only serve fifty parishioners at any given time and housed its sole clergyman in a solitary rectory apartment little bigger than Jonathan's room. The Church’s pride however was its four-story bell tower, which had been the tallest building on the Warren Estate for seventy-five years.  The bell tower contained the first solid cast bronze bell made on the planet and had been commissioned by Allen Warren himself the founder of the Estate. Father Lawrence Horatio, who some in the District quietly joked should be up for a historic landmark designation himself, took great pleasure in dragging his seventy year old carcass from bed every morning and at 7:31 precisely engaging the electronic system, tolling the damnable bell for ten grueling minutes.

Though the noise certainly was jolting at first, Jonathan's career required early rising as well as punctuality so he didn’t mind the bell too much and in fact rather admired Father Horatio’s dedication to duty something Jonathan could relate to. Of course it wasn’t enough to get him to attend service at St. Mark’s because Father Horatio was a notorious dullard at the pulpit.  

There was a firm knock on the door followed by “Jonathan dearie, breakfast.”

Jonathan rolled from bed grabbing his towel and bathrobe “Coming Madam Dufrey”

Madam Dufrey Jonathan’s landlady and proprietor of the Blue Moon was a sweet old lady nearer to 70 than 80 with a kindly disposition and a keen eye for opportunities. She was also the Ward Captain for United Hospitality Workers Local 189, and had a reputation as somewhat of a tough old bird. Wrapping himself in his robe, Jonathan trundled downstairs to the shower he shared with his three neighbors who lived on the floor below. Agatha was already waiting outside the door, indicating either Sumi or Albert was currently occupying the shower.

Agatha glanced over at him and flashed him a delightful yet sleepy smile. She was a blonde, blue-eyed girl, in her mid twenties who shared Jonathan’s love of chess. Jonathan and Agatha had a regular Sunday morning game, after she returned from service at New Temple of Zion Everlasting. The water shut off and Albert, emerged, drying his hair while neglecting to cover any other part of his anatomy.

“Well good morning sailor,” Albert said with a wink.

Jonathan just shook his head and rolled his eyes. Despite Jonathan having resided in the Blue Moon for more than two years, and providing ample evidence he was neither gay, nor bisexual, nor pansexual, nor remotely curious, Albert had refused to give up his pursuit, though at this point Albert was mostly just trying to ruffle Jonathan's feathers.

Acknowledging Jonathan’s lack of response, and refusal to so much as glance below his neckline, Albert strode back to his room, his towel draped over his shoulder putting all he had into his stride. Agatha jerked her head toward the bathroom door in-between giggles. Jonathan nodded his thanks as he walked in and closed the door, when he wasn’t the first to the shower on weekdays his neighbors would let him go ahead of them.  After all, he had to commute to work across town while they all worked out of their rooms. Jonathan felt a small thrill as the warm water splashed over him.  The shower room was a luxury in itself; it contained the shower, which was large enough for four people and had 180 degree massaging jets with 17 settings, but also a tub large enough to sit six comfortably. The room had been designed to be the fourth bedroom on the floor, but Madame Dufrey had turned it into a luxury bath suite, for the clients who preferred that sort of thing. Jonathan loved hot showers more than just about anything else. He’d grown up the son of a spacer on a cargo tramp vessel plying the outbound trade lanes.  There were no showers on tramp freighters, and no baths.  You cleaned yourself with vibe showers- a small booth that shot out a series of sound waves to loosen the gunk and grime from your skin. They said it was better than the old fashioned way, but it sure didn’t feel as good. Unfortunately, the requirement of being in the office by 9am meant Jonathan had less than ten minutes to indulge himself, and considering that Agatha was still waiting outside Jonathan wanted to be timely. Drying himself, Jonathan put his robe on and smiled at Agatha as he headed back upstairs to change. She returned the smile readily, and with a wink slipped into the shower. Jonathan shook his head in wry amusement as he climbed the stairs.

On occasion, usually after their weekly chess game she'd ask Jonathan to join her for a long self-indulgent shower. When he hadn’t been involved with anyone he took her up on it, a little uncomplicated innocent fun now and again. Agatha certainly was far better conversation than Katie Glosser, the Solicitor Jonathan had somehow wound up dating for three months until two weeks ago. She was far less vain too. A pity Agatha refused to consider anything more serious, but given her line of work Jonathan understood her position. Courtesans rarely had successful long-term relationships even if the partner understood about their work.  Re-entering his room Jonathan paused a moment to glance at the photos on his wall, they were old-school 2D, HD pictures anyone could take with a simple pic-croder. Most people preferred 3D holos, but Jonathan had always liked the simplicity of the 2D. Also, there was no chance of a computer slicer changing out the image with obscene material as a prank. There were six photos arrayed on the wall in a rough pyramid shape. At the top was a wide-angle view of the
SS Wanderer
berthed in dock at Sun dancer Station over Earth. Jonathan reached out and traced the lines of
Wanderer
fondly remembering the specifications of what in his mind was the best ship ever laid down.
Wanderer
had been a long-range light cargo hauler, built by Luna Heavy Lifter LLC. She measured 300 feet from bridge to engines. The hull was a I frame, and the forward bridge and habitation section measured 80 feet across with three decks and enough room for twenty people to live in relative comfort, forty if they wanted to cram in like canned squabil. The central trunk, which ran from the habitation section to the engine block, was only wide enough for two men to walk abreast. The ships cargo was attached to this section in inter-modal containers, and self-contained titanium boxes or tanks which could be off loaded at dock, placed on a shuttle or orbital lift and taken to the surface where they could be moved by ground truck, train, airplane, or wet ship. Alternatively, the central trunk was designed with connector ports allowing the crew to convert interconnected cargo containers into living space. This allowed the crew to adapt the ship from a cargo hauler to a transport capable of sustaining upwards to four hundred people depending on provisions and how many redundant carbon scrubbers the crew installed. The engine block was slightly longer and wider than the crew hub, but more crowded as it contained the ship’s three aluminum phosphate engines, a thorium reactor as a central power generator, and backup life support. Though slower than a ship with less mass, the aluminum phosphate engines that used processed regolith mined from places like Luna, Cereise, New Artemis, and Kanva, could propel the ship from Earth to Jupiter in 20 days.  From there it could travel on to the wormway, the cosmic anomalies that made faster than light travel possible.

The
Wanderer
was often referred to as what someone in the distant past had christened a Falcon. Although these days’, ships like her were more often called a Mule, a sturdy small craft capable of moving a couple tons of cargo in a timely fashion. The ship had been Jonathan’s childhood home, and on one of the few occasions they had made port in orbit of Old Earth, Jonathan's father had taken that photo as a keepsake. Jonathan's father and mother were in the next three photographs under the image of the
Wanderer
. The far left portrait had been taken when Alexander Pavel, Jonathan's father, wasn’t much older than Jonathan’s own 28 years. He was black haired, swarthy skinned with a cocky grin, and he was dressed in his military fatigues with Major stars on his collar. Jonathan's father was at the center of a group of men reclining on a burnt out APC with the crest of the Terran Federal Union just barely visible.  Two of his father’s men were holding up a homemade white flag bearing a black Grimm Reaper, with the words “499
th
Heran Rifles” written above the image, and the motto “For Hera Until Death Take Us” underneath. Those words always sent a chill up Jonathan’s spine. His father had given him that picture after his graduation as a gift. It remained a parable that not all causes were won.