AN: Up to 20 Advanced Chapters on my Patreon
https://www.patreon.com/cw/Crimson_Reapr
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Stellar Year: August 1st, 2983
The doors to the council chamber opened smoothly with a hiss of the hydraulics controlling it, the sterile white glow of the corridor bouncing across the metal sheets that made up the walls. No one walked through it for a moment, causing the eyes of the people who were already in the room to shift from looking at the door and wander around the room and into each other's gaze.
A middle-aged man opened his mouth to speak, the light shining on his balding head, a feature rarely seen since hair loss, amongst other things, had long been resolved with the advances in technology. This meant that the man chose to appear this way, and not because of a lack of money, but because he could.
Before a word could slip from the man's mouth, the sound of boots clicking against the polished composite floor filled the air, and in walked another middle-aged man, a few strands of white hair adorning his beard and full head of hair. His blue coat, high-collared and trimmed with silver braids, seemed to absorb the dim light of the room. The decorations pinned to his chest clinked softly as he moved, the evidence of a man who had earned his position through grit and merit.
He slowly made his way to a curved obsidian table, its surface reflecting the slowly rotating star map suspended above it. Blue-white constellations and glowing system markers drifted lazily in the air, casting fractured light across the assembled faces of men and women whose expressions ranged from wary to impatient to blank.
Admiral Kaelen Strathmore didn't bother with finding a seat, opting to examine the table that stretched before him. He stopped at the midpoint of the table, leaning forward until both of his gloved hands were braced against the glassy surface. The muscles in his forearms strained as he leaned on the table, the tendons in his neck drawing tight as he drew in a deep breath and slowly let it out.
"I have called this meeting to discuss something very important. Now I understand that we have all had our differences here, varying interests, and we all, well, you all answer to your masters." Admiral Strathmore stopped talking as he looked up, his eyes panning across the dimly lit room. "Some of you are so deep in Stellar Dynamics' pockets that anyone could tell your motives with just a mere glance at your actions. Others were just placed here by your families to keep tabs on the workings of the Empire. However, despite our differences, we still share a common interest. The safety and security of the IUC and its peoples... So, someone, anyone, please... tell me, why?"
The people in the conference room looked around, the tension rising as Admiral Stratmore's question hung in the air. Out of the 24 people in the room, one mustered up the courage to ask what everyone else was thinking.
An elegant young woman cleared her throat before speaking, "I'm sorry, Admiral, I'm afraid that you are going to have to elaborate on your inquiry. If I may, what exactly are you-?"
The woman was not able to finish her question as Admiral Strathmore exploded in anger.
"Don't you dare play fucking dumb with me, Ms. Gleam! You all very well know what the fuck it is I'm talking about. So stop fucking with me!" He stared the woman, Caitlyn Gleam, in the eyes through the holophraphic map that hovered between them. "Captain Mark Shepherd... I'm afraid that Captain Mark Shepherd, one of the brightest rising stars that the Stellanova Naval Academy has produced, no, that our empire has seen since the dark days of our nation's civil war, is dead."
The words coming out of Admiral Strathmore's mouth hung in the air, a tense silence filling the room, but not a single face showed any surprise.
The silence was once again broken by Caitlyn Gleam, as she spoke with a slight tone of mockery, "So that's it, your pet project is dead, that was the reason-"
Caitlyn's words were cut short as she ducked just before a mug came flying past where her head had been just a second ago.
"I told you not to fuck with me, Ms Gleam!" Admiral Strathmore spat out, anger seething in his words. "I've shown much restraint because of who you represent. But I will no longer tolerate a young upity bitch talking down to me when the future of our Empire is at stake because a man with a very bright future was fucking killed by some greedy scheaming bastard trying to start another small fucking war so he can make some money! As if we don't have enough fucking problems with the VIC, now the rise of Vulpinian vessel sightings and activity near our empire's borders is skyrocketing. And one of the few men who had been bred to fight them is fucking dead."
Some people's eyebrows rose at the mention of the Vulpinians, a humanoid race that resembled foxes. Their existence had come to light during the dark days of the empire. It was 2527 when a battle between the Empire's navy and the then-young VIC forces, which had been mostly made up of pirates, was interrupted by an unknown vessel that boasted far superior technology stepping out of FTL within one light-second of the two warring factions.
The undetected signature from the Vulpinians' FTL jump drives had sent both sides into a frenzy, causing them to stop firing on each other and instead open fire on the unknown foe. The empire didn't know it then, but the appearance of the Vulpinian vessel would deal a heavy blow to the IUC. A temporary truce was set between VIC and IUC forces, allowing them to come together to defeat a far more advanced foe that threatened humanity's existence. This alliance led more and more systems to defect from the IUC and join the VIC.
It was later learned that the Vulpinian vessel had only been a research vessel, and though the odds were heavily stacked against humanity, they managed to survive, not win. Humanity was on edge for a whole decade before word reached them from the Vulpinian leadership that they had deemed the few dozen ships lost during their conflict against the inferior humans too costly and pulled out of the fight.
The UIC had been left ragged with only a couple of dozen ships; a handful of destroyers, some frigates, corvettes, and some liners that had been converted to warships due to the state of emergency. The VIC had been left in a similar state, its navy being composed of mostly converted civilian haulers and some military frigates. But the VIC had just enough support to declare itself and other separatist systems independent from the UIC, leaving corporations to run unchecked and become more militarized.
This allowed them to become ingrained in both the Coalition's and the Empire's governing structures, though eventually, both the Empire and the Coalition managed to rein in the corporations just enough to maintain a semblance of control. However, everyone knew that both governing agencies only existed to maintain order.
And now, that order was being threatened because someone had gotten too greedy and sent one of the Empire's navy's rising stars headfirst into a system upon which the VIC had recently taken a keen interest. And though from the time of their establishment, conflict with the VIC wasn't uncommon since corporations profited with every war, it wasn't currently a good time for either faction to be distracted with meaningless squabbles.
Admiral Strathmore slammed his gloved hands onto the table before him, "Tell me why the fuck did someone on this council send him there? The coordinates he was given were need-to-know only on a quiet system on the edge of fucking nowhere!"
Admiral Strathmore managed to rein in his anger for a moment, inhaling deeply before continuing, "One of the stealth spy satellites we have there managed to record and send back the following before being destroyed by, of all things, a piece of debris the size of a house from what we can only guess to be a frigate's engine."
The star map shifted with a flick of his hand, the serene glow of systems giving way to a recorded combat feed. Tiny bursts of light marked weapons fire, the miniature forms of Shepherd's scout fleet trying to break free. Frigates died in searing blossoms of energy, corvettes snapped apart like toys under railgun fire, some plummeting into the red planet behind them before a giant piece of metal slammed into it faster than the blink of an eye.
The flickering blue light painted Kaelen's face in jagged shadows, marking the fury in his eyes.
"I want the name," he said, his back straightening as he took off his cap. "And I want the fucking head attached to it."
Silence followed, broken only by the soft hum of the holo-projector.
It was the balding man, Councilor Verrin, who finally spoke from the far end, his voice smooth as silk with a posh British accent. "You know as well as we all do, Admiral… the operative who provided that intelligence is of a house."
A ripple of discomfort passed along the table. Some shifted in their seats, others fixed their attention on nothing at all.
Admiral Strathmore furrowed his brows before raising his hand and crunching his eyes, sliding two fingers down the bridge of his nose, "Was it that fucker from House Deirdik? What was his name again? Gerard or something?"
"It is, as you have said, Admiral, that fucker from House Deirdik, Jarl Deirdik," Verrin went on, folding his hands in front of him, "he pushed a few buttons, talked to the right people, paid them off, and got them to act on his behalf. We can take care of the ones who fed the information to the deceased Captain, but it means nothing can be done to Jarl. Not officially and not without… consequences."
Kaelen's eyes locked on Verrin's, the space between them taut as a drawn wire.
"Consequences," the Admiral repeated, tasting the word like poison. "What in the seven hells is that little bastard trying to do? Is he trying to drag us into a war against the Coalition just so his family's company can make some more money? Now of all fucking times..."
Noticing the silence in the conference room, Admiral Strathmore sighed deeply, "You've gotta be fucking kidding me... I'll go talk to the head of House Deirdik. Gared should be able to see just how close his son's antics have brought us to war in a time we need it least."
Counselor Verrin sought this opportunity to try and curry favor with the Admiral, quickly detailing where the Admiral would be able to find the head of House Deirdik, Gared Deirdik. "You should be able to find Mr. Deirdik at Station Vought; he should be there for another 2 weeks... If you hurry up, you may be able to make the trip in a week's time. Or you can handle this through a video call, though that'd only save you a day of travel since Vought's G-Comm is currently offline and being repaired."
Admiral Strathmore straightened slowly, the sound of leather creaking as his hands uncurled from fists. His gaze drifted from face to face, and in the silence, most council members found some reason not to meet it. "I hope none of you sellout idiots will take any further action to damage our already feeble relationship with the CIV or put our empire at risk for some frivolous earnings."
Without another word, he turned to leave the room, his mumble barely audible over the hiss of the door sliding shut behind him as he left, "Shepherd, I doubt you survived, but if there is anyone who could've lived through that, I know it's you."
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Mark's HUD zoomed in to a 300x optic zoom, focusing on what appeared to be one very old ship that seemed to have had the softest crash landing. All other ships in the vicinity were heavily damaged to the point that the only intact parts were the engines, due to most landing on their bows. At the same time, he scanned a forming storm on the horizon, his HUD estimating crosswind speeds to be over 900kmh.
Mark's optics zoomed out, and he looked down at his feet. The edge of the cliff that fell for almost 1700 meters stared back at him. "Now just how in the hell am I supposed to climb my way down from here?"
He stepped back from the edge and returned to the Perseverance's charred hull, softly paddling it. "Well, girl, I guess this is goodbye. You are relieved of your duties," he muttered, voice barely audible over the wind screaming past the cliff face. His HUD warned of structural instability in the hull behind him, the edges of the wreck groaning in protest as the storm far below howled and swirled.
He turned toward the jagged slope, jaw tightening. His left arm hung useless in its splint inside the EVA suit, a constant throbbing reminding him of how the day had gone so far. One-handed climbing wasn't exactly on the training syllabus or in a survival guide, but there wasn't another option. His boots found relief on weathered rock, his right hand gripping tight as he began the long crawl downward.
The hours slowly passed, and each step was a battle between fatigue and gravity. By now, seven hours of inching, sliding, and muttered curses had gone by. Mark had stopped to catch his breath for what was the thirty-fifth time now, his visor fogging with the heat of his labored breathing despite the suit's temperature regulation. His right shoulder burned, and his good arm trembled. He forced himself to rest for a bit more, eventually getting back up to continue the arduous journey. After all, he only had about 16 hours of oxygen left.
A few seconds into his slow descent, a muffled crunch could be heard, and the stone beneath his right boot sheared away without warning. Mark found his world tilted violently and his HUD's altitude readings plummeting as he slid down the cliff face for 200 meters. Razor-edged rocks tore at his suit plating, sparks flaring in his peripheral vision as he slammed into a protruding boulder. Pain bloomed across his ribs as multiple shattered from the impact, his suit tearing. He slammed into another protruding boulder, then another, and then… nothing.
The cliff face was gone. The sensation of scraping, bouncing, and breaking was simply replaced by the brush of the wind. He was now falling, his body weightless as air screamed past his helmet, and the ground rushed up from over a kilometer below. The suit's sensors screamed proximity alarms in his ears, but there was nothing he could do. Mark's mind went blank as acceptance seeped into his bones.
Well, I guess I ain't no protagonist, was the only thought that crossed his mind as he plummeted.
The world swelled beneath him, and the top of the cliff quickly disappeared from his view. Mark felt his body slow down for a split second as he fell through a shredded tarp, some ancient fabric strung across a gap, his body catching onto it momentarily, plunging through it, and dropping into a dark pool of blue water.
As soon as his body hit the water, it started glowing, his limbs going numb almost instantly, his HUD blinking with warnings he couldn't register since he was already unconscious.