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I Have Feet, Yet I Can Not Run
"George, come check this out." The communications technician beckoned his colleague to come to his console.
"What is it?"
"Look at the timer. It's well over forty minutes." The chronometre on the screen read 47:54.
"Not a confirmation signal from Terra Nova? Have you sent a query message?"
"I got worried twenty minutes ago and sent it. No response, I have scanned all the common bandwidths..." The screen started to flicker and the technician heard a loud beep in his headphones.
"Wait, something's coming in." He opened the channel. There was no visual connection, just a sizzling sound. The tech directed it to the speakers as George urged the others in the room to listen.
"This is Communications Operator Riikka Collins calling Terra Station Phi", a distant voice, of a woman, reported. George went through the protocol settings and made sure the Alliance Communications Post was tuned in. The Alliance was mainly responsible for usual communications between the homeworld and Capella, but now it seemed that only a Coalition comms station was online.
"This is station Phi, Operator Shanahan. What is your status?"
"Listen. We are under attack. Twenty minutes ago ships entered the system." The room's occupants burst in chatter as they whispered to each other, wondering what was happening. George rushed to the shift list and found out that Admiral Thorpe was in charge of the operations in off-Sol colonies. He immediately left the room heading for Thorpe's office.
"Are you getting this?" Collins said to the link.
"Yes, go on", he ran through the list of Terra Nova's personnel to check for Collins' post, "Umera Station."
"The defence fleet has been wiped out. Repeat, wiped out. Apparently the commanding ship was not destroyed, but unconfirmed information tells that Admiral Manson is dead. Also, the Terran Surface Commander is taken prisoner, and the Colonial Magistrate has also perished."
"This is Communications Lieutenant Holmqvist. Who are the attackers?" the channel was accompanied by an Alliance Comms Operator.
"Morgan Interstellar and the Lord's Believers", Collins sighed. "Believer ships took down the Alliance task forces, and the Morganites, alongside the Believer's, are engaged in an assault around our colonial station. The planet has been sorrounded, and all evacuation ships are either shot down or captured."
"May I speak to the highest ranking Alliance officer available, Officer Collins?" Holmqvist asked.
"That would be Colonel Strutton, but he is outside fending off the attackers. I am the commanding officer inside. A Terran division was forced to retreat to our base, and we are doing all we can to help them. But we are vastly outnumbered. You must send help!"
Shanahan sighed and closed his eyes. It was devastating to him. Terrans were being slaughtered, but beyond the reach of help. If ships would be sent immediately, it would take days for them to reach Capella. Observers on Earth could not see the bloodshed until after over fifty years.
***
"Here's something!" a member of the 26th Salvation Crew reported at the still smouldering ruins of a spaceport, inside the Callisto One dome, on the moon of Jupiter recently taken and abandoned by Morgan Interstellar.
The crew quickly gathered to the ruins and started to disintegrate and remove the piles of concrete and steel.
"There's a cavity down there. Get me some light." The man was handed a flashlight as he lowered himself below ground level to what was the basement of a small private spaceport.
There was a quite vast hall down there, but it's roof had fallen down just about everywhere. There had been smaller, shuttle-like antique starships stored in the space, and all of them but one had been crushed by the falling building above.
The rescuers, once the area had been cleared of immediate danger of collapse, went to the ship as it's insides showed heat signatures. A side hatch of the shuttle opened, light from the shuttle was cast to the far side of the hall...
***
Like in any self-respecting defence organization, in a matter of minutes after the message from Communications Operator Riikka Collins had arrived, every single fleet, squadron, ship and person serving the Terran Alliance, or any of it's member factions, was in a state of alert. The Coalition had issued a Code Three Defensive Emergency, uplifting the readiness from a Code Four alarm. All the other members of TA had raised their military alertness respectively.
***
"What's with the device?" Greg asked his very dear friend, Filkins.
Filkins took a small breath from the portable oxymask and replied: "Just some dust in my lungs. Some clean oxygen should clear it away in a couple of hours. Now, I think it's my turn to ask, what's with that device?" Filkins pointed at the metallic structure around Greg's left leg.
"The darn thing got broken in the mess. Your 'help' didn't do any good to it, either. Are you sure it was a real Red Cross first-aid course?"
"Look, she was quite a stunning lady, and I have no reason to believe that it would of been nothing else then a real first-aid course. Not sure about the Red Cross thingy, though, but she sure looked like a nurse", Filkins winced.
"So did the young woman you gave mouth-to-mouth to", Greg muttered.
Filkins shrugged. "So how long 'till it's all good and ready to play some gravdisk?"
"I can walk with the servo, but the doc said I should avoid running. So I am afraid our little team will have to get a new goalie for the next week's game", Greg sighed.
"I wouldn't be too sure of the game at all. You have watched the news, haven't you?"
"Haven't had anything to else do lately, so yes. Awful thing the Titan mess."
The two friends had never discussed politics, especially internal politics, that much. So a short pause between their chatter at this point was no surprise to them.
"So how's the wife then?" Filkins broke the silence.
"Mad as a hellhound, as usual", Greg smiled. "You know she was against this trip. She wanted to split the dosh 50/50 and spend it on household appliances. New household appliances, to be accurate."
"Like clothes", Filkins read his friend's mind out loud.
Greg nodded. "But, I guess we still have to head back to Earth. I trust that you have been trying to get us some tickets home."
"Sure, but the goverment is very tardy in letting anyone back to Earth from here. Callisto is effectively guarantened, since they are afraid of Morganite undercovers infiltrating other colonies and escaping the place. But..."
"I knew there would be a 'but', you fox."
"You are flattering me, Greg. Anyhow, I know a friend who is transporting, shall I say, 'hot' goods to Mars. You know, the folks there aren't too easygoing. Some adult entertainment, some stuff to get your head mixed and your pace wabbly, you know what I mean. Corrupts the workers, says the locals.
Now, he is getting them through because he has a cousin in the customs office. He knows when he is in duty, and will set course to Mars by then. He told me that", Filkins looked at his chronometre, "in six hours, he will be heading off to Mars."
"Mars, that's not quite like Earth", Greg complained.
"But it's a hoot closer to home then this dump", Filkins said and looked around at the ascetic room of the hospital. "From Mars it'll be easier to get to home, Callisto is a warzone after all. And, he'll get us there for free. He owes me one, way back from school. Now, can you FTL with that arm?"
***
Admiral Michael Thorpe was probably the most helpless man in the universe, as he listened to the recording. He had power to command dozens and dozens of Battle Squarons to go and avenge to the Morganites, but it would be of no use. All he could do was listen, and like so many others, a tear glistened in his eyes.
Communications traffic from Capella had already ceased, the last message containing a brief echo of gunfire. Apparently, either the entire station or at least the comms equipment had been destroyed in battle. Riikka Collins and everyone else on Capella had been declared Missing in Action. A few Alliance ships, capable of superluminal travel, were hopefully heading back to Sol, but there was no way to find out since ships in FTL-transit could not communicate with anyone else but other ships in the same dimensional warp.
Admiral Thorpe did not know, why he was so crushed of the situation. He had already seen comrades fall in battle, but not at this kind of levels. Not to mention all the civilian workers of Terra Nova.
Maybe he wept for the insinuating battles, starships firing at each other and being blown to pieces, with hundreds and hundreds of fathers, sons, mothers, daughters, sisters, brothers, cousins and friends onboard.
"George, come check this out." The communications technician beckoned his colleague to come to his console.
"What is it?"
"Look at the timer. It's well over forty minutes." The chronometre on the screen read 47:54.
"Not a confirmation signal from Terra Nova? Have you sent a query message?"
"I got worried twenty minutes ago and sent it. No response, I have scanned all the common bandwidths..." The screen started to flicker and the technician heard a loud beep in his headphones.
"Wait, something's coming in." He opened the channel. There was no visual connection, just a sizzling sound. The tech directed it to the speakers as George urged the others in the room to listen.
"This is Communications Operator Riikka Collins calling Terra Station Phi", a distant voice, of a woman, reported. George went through the protocol settings and made sure the Alliance Communications Post was tuned in. The Alliance was mainly responsible for usual communications between the homeworld and Capella, but now it seemed that only a Coalition comms station was online.
"This is station Phi, Operator Shanahan. What is your status?"
"Listen. We are under attack. Twenty minutes ago ships entered the system." The room's occupants burst in chatter as they whispered to each other, wondering what was happening. George rushed to the shift list and found out that Admiral Thorpe was in charge of the operations in off-Sol colonies. He immediately left the room heading for Thorpe's office.
"Are you getting this?" Collins said to the link.
"Yes, go on", he ran through the list of Terra Nova's personnel to check for Collins' post, "Umera Station."
"The defence fleet has been wiped out. Repeat, wiped out. Apparently the commanding ship was not destroyed, but unconfirmed information tells that Admiral Manson is dead. Also, the Terran Surface Commander is taken prisoner, and the Colonial Magistrate has also perished."
"This is Communications Lieutenant Holmqvist. Who are the attackers?" the channel was accompanied by an Alliance Comms Operator.
"Morgan Interstellar and the Lord's Believers", Collins sighed. "Believer ships took down the Alliance task forces, and the Morganites, alongside the Believer's, are engaged in an assault around our colonial station. The planet has been sorrounded, and all evacuation ships are either shot down or captured."
"May I speak to the highest ranking Alliance officer available, Officer Collins?" Holmqvist asked.
"That would be Colonel Strutton, but he is outside fending off the attackers. I am the commanding officer inside. A Terran division was forced to retreat to our base, and we are doing all we can to help them. But we are vastly outnumbered. You must send help!"
Shanahan sighed and closed his eyes. It was devastating to him. Terrans were being slaughtered, but beyond the reach of help. If ships would be sent immediately, it would take days for them to reach Capella. Observers on Earth could not see the bloodshed until after over fifty years.
***
"Here's something!" a member of the 26th Salvation Crew reported at the still smouldering ruins of a spaceport, inside the Callisto One dome, on the moon of Jupiter recently taken and abandoned by Morgan Interstellar.
The crew quickly gathered to the ruins and started to disintegrate and remove the piles of concrete and steel.
"There's a cavity down there. Get me some light." The man was handed a flashlight as he lowered himself below ground level to what was the basement of a small private spaceport.
There was a quite vast hall down there, but it's roof had fallen down just about everywhere. There had been smaller, shuttle-like antique starships stored in the space, and all of them but one had been crushed by the falling building above.
The rescuers, once the area had been cleared of immediate danger of collapse, went to the ship as it's insides showed heat signatures. A side hatch of the shuttle opened, light from the shuttle was cast to the far side of the hall...
***
Like in any self-respecting defence organization, in a matter of minutes after the message from Communications Operator Riikka Collins had arrived, every single fleet, squadron, ship and person serving the Terran Alliance, or any of it's member factions, was in a state of alert. The Coalition had issued a Code Three Defensive Emergency, uplifting the readiness from a Code Four alarm. All the other members of TA had raised their military alertness respectively.
***
"What's with the device?" Greg asked his very dear friend, Filkins.
Filkins took a small breath from the portable oxymask and replied: "Just some dust in my lungs. Some clean oxygen should clear it away in a couple of hours. Now, I think it's my turn to ask, what's with that device?" Filkins pointed at the metallic structure around Greg's left leg.
"The darn thing got broken in the mess. Your 'help' didn't do any good to it, either. Are you sure it was a real Red Cross first-aid course?"
"Look, she was quite a stunning lady, and I have no reason to believe that it would of been nothing else then a real first-aid course. Not sure about the Red Cross thingy, though, but she sure looked like a nurse", Filkins winced.
"So did the young woman you gave mouth-to-mouth to", Greg muttered.
Filkins shrugged. "So how long 'till it's all good and ready to play some gravdisk?"
"I can walk with the servo, but the doc said I should avoid running. So I am afraid our little team will have to get a new goalie for the next week's game", Greg sighed.
"I wouldn't be too sure of the game at all. You have watched the news, haven't you?"
"Haven't had anything to else do lately, so yes. Awful thing the Titan mess."
The two friends had never discussed politics, especially internal politics, that much. So a short pause between their chatter at this point was no surprise to them.
"So how's the wife then?" Filkins broke the silence.
"Mad as a hellhound, as usual", Greg smiled. "You know she was against this trip. She wanted to split the dosh 50/50 and spend it on household appliances. New household appliances, to be accurate."
"Like clothes", Filkins read his friend's mind out loud.
Greg nodded. "But, I guess we still have to head back to Earth. I trust that you have been trying to get us some tickets home."
"Sure, but the goverment is very tardy in letting anyone back to Earth from here. Callisto is effectively guarantened, since they are afraid of Morganite undercovers infiltrating other colonies and escaping the place. But..."
"I knew there would be a 'but', you fox."
"You are flattering me, Greg. Anyhow, I know a friend who is transporting, shall I say, 'hot' goods to Mars. You know, the folks there aren't too easygoing. Some adult entertainment, some stuff to get your head mixed and your pace wabbly, you know what I mean. Corrupts the workers, says the locals.
Now, he is getting them through because he has a cousin in the customs office. He knows when he is in duty, and will set course to Mars by then. He told me that", Filkins looked at his chronometre, "in six hours, he will be heading off to Mars."
"Mars, that's not quite like Earth", Greg complained.
"But it's a hoot closer to home then this dump", Filkins said and looked around at the ascetic room of the hospital. "From Mars it'll be easier to get to home, Callisto is a warzone after all. And, he'll get us there for free. He owes me one, way back from school. Now, can you FTL with that arm?"
***
Admiral Michael Thorpe was probably the most helpless man in the universe, as he listened to the recording. He had power to command dozens and dozens of Battle Squarons to go and avenge to the Morganites, but it would be of no use. All he could do was listen, and like so many others, a tear glistened in his eyes.
Communications traffic from Capella had already ceased, the last message containing a brief echo of gunfire. Apparently, either the entire station or at least the comms equipment had been destroyed in battle. Riikka Collins and everyone else on Capella had been declared Missing in Action. A few Alliance ships, capable of superluminal travel, were hopefully heading back to Sol, but there was no way to find out since ships in FTL-transit could not communicate with anyone else but other ships in the same dimensional warp.
Admiral Thorpe did not know, why he was so crushed of the situation. He had already seen comrades fall in battle, but not at this kind of levels. Not to mention all the civilian workers of Terra Nova.
Maybe he wept for the insinuating battles, starships firing at each other and being blown to pieces, with hundreds and hundreds of fathers, sons, mothers, daughters, sisters, brothers, cousins and friends onboard.
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