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    Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments
    Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments
    Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments
    Ebook523 pages9 hours

    Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments

    By Randolph Lalonde

    4.5/5

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    Read preview

    • Survival

    • Artificial Intelligence

    • Space Travel

    • Technology

    • Leadership

    • Space Opera

    • Space Pirates

    • Military Science Fiction

    • Space Battle

    • Space Marines

    • Space Western

    • Lost Colony

    • Lost in Space

    • Space Survival

    • Amnesiac Hero

    • Space Exploration

    • Space Warfare

    • Conflict

    • Teamwork

    • Military

    About this ebook

    The crew of the Triton continue their misadventure near Ossimi Ring Station. They are forced down different paths and a fight for freedom that will cost them dearly begins. New opportunities, dangers and experiences await them all, as the Order of Eden stirs, advancing their own agenda.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherRandolph Lalonde
    Release dateJul 19, 2010
    ISBN9780986594243
    Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6: Fragments
    Author

    Randolph Lalonde

    Born in 1974, Randolph Lalonde has worked in customer service, sales, played drums for several heavy metal bands you've never heard of, dealt blackjack in a traveling casino, and serviced countless computers. He's also owned businesses in the design, printing, collectible and custom computer fields.He completed writing his first novel in the fantasy adventure genre at the age of fifteen and has been writing ever since.He self published his first novel;Fate Cycle: Sins of the Past in 2004 and after taking a break has begun to release his work again starting with the Spinward Fringe series.Randolph Lalonde's Ebooks have been legally downloaded over one million times to date. He has made just enough to keep writing full time from sales. He is deeply grateful for his following of readers and strives to improve his skills to better entertain them. The Spinward Fringe Space Opera series has proven to be his most popular offering.

    Read more from Randolph Lalonde

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      Book preview

      Spinward Fringe Broadcast 6 - Randolph Lalonde

      Chapter 1

      Gunnery Chief Shamus Frost

      Get these lads clear of their posts! I want this section sealed off in five minutes! Gunnery Chief Frost ordered over his proximity radio. The gunnery deck of the Triton was a disaster. He listened to the frantic chatter of his deck crew as he inspected the heat damage that had warped the outer hull and seized several of the large overhead turrets in position. The larger, three-metre tall loader suits were working to pry gunners from their seats and remove one-tonne cartridges from the railgun emplacements before real repairs could begin. Their work worsened the combat damage, but there was no other way to get the gunnery crews free.

      Past them, Shamus could see the light twisting energy wall of the wormhole the Triton had used to escape the Ossimi Asteroid Ring. The damage they sustained to the aft dorsal section of the ship during their getaway was devastating. The Caran Enterprises battlecruisers had used broad particle beam pulses to superheat the hull of the Triton. Super cooled, high velocity rounds weren’t far behind, and the Gunnery Chief couldn’t remember being more frightened. Watching the outer armour of the transparent hull crack and shatter centimetre by centimetre was surreal. He put the memory aside, knowing that it would return once things quieted down, when he was trying to relax. His people were at incredible risk while they worked beneath the fatigued section of hull; they needed every bit of his attention. How many gunnery positions do we have left, Hunsler?

      Thirty nine 280 millimetre turrets and three 450 millimetre guns. I'm trying to get two more 450’s back online, they only fried targeting systems. We have spare modules in storage.

      Good, get 'em running, Frost instructed as he limped out of a loading suit's way. Its plain, grey and blue armour plating and heavy gait made anyone think twice about standing near it.

      Are we expecting more trouble?

      Never know. Captain's still out there somewhere, so we could be going back in it if we have to save his arse. Frost looked through the transparent hull above him as the repair crews rushed around, trying to get ammunition secured and the injured into express cars so they could get to medical. Only two of his team had been killed, and ammunition explosions or direct heat had burned fewer than two-dozen.

      Something caught his eye as he watched one of his gunners emerge from a turret capsule. He could see three lights growing in the distorted field of stars; there was something very wrong with how they were moving. The points were growing too quickly.

      Chief Frost looked down the length of the massive main gunnery deck ceiling. It wasn't just the aft section that was busy with repairs and other operations. The whole deck was running full steam, dozens of loader suits securing ammunition and helping with repairs. Mechanics climbed into the big four-barrelled, ceiling mounted railgun turrets, gunners were being replaced or just getting out so they could stretch or help on deck. The controlled chaos was thanks to weeks of practice in simulations and live exercises. They'd had some seasoning thanks to a few encounters, but nothing that compared with the close call they had just seen.

      He looked back up to the three points of light and realized with alarm that they had grown brighter. I don’t care if I look like a panicky rookie, something’s not right and I’m marking them so tactical gets a good scan, Frost thought as he selected the three points and suggested them as targets in the system.

      He hoped he was wrong, that it was just some odd refraction through the wormhole wall, but he knew better. The most damaged section of hull in the centre was a weak spot that would leave everyone vulnerable until it was sealed off. When their work was done, the gunnery deck would be split in two parts that were each hundreds of square meters. Lieutenant Hunsler, the night Gunnery Deck commander, would take charge of the aft section, while Frost would manage the larger forward segment.

      That had been more like the stories his father and grandfather told him about serving aboard large destroyers. Men and women all doing the best they could, standing valiantly at their posts and running the guns. Grist for the mill, his grandfather said they were called. The decks he served on were nothing like the Triton’s. His grandfather’s time in the military was served aboard the long hulled Crossbow destroyers, eventually commanding the port side gunnery decks, where three levels of turrets were crammed along the side of the ship shoulder to shoulder, one above the other. He'd seen one of the ships on a family tour with his father and remembered staring in awe at the raw mechanics of it, the sheer potential firepower.

      He felt a tingle of the same awe whenever he took a moment to look up at the ceiling of the main gunnery deck at the ninety-eight gunnery pods at his command. Not even the burning of his shin stump could diminish that feeling. He'd lost his foot and most of his shin weeks before when an Eden Fleet boarding robot, a silver killer, had drilled through the hull. He'd stepped forward to face it in a loader suit and was rewarded with a sound beating. The memory of the limb being cut straight through still made him cringe, though he'd never admit it, especially not to Stephanie.

      Chief Frost returned his attention to the puzzling flares above them. Triton tactical hadn’t analysed them yet. To his surprise, they had grown even more. He realized he was looking almost dead aft and did some quick calculations in his head, staring at the three points unwaveringly. He came to an alarming conclusion and opened a channel to everyone on the deck. Abandon the aft-most compartment! We're sealing it now!

      Before his eyes, the wavering image of three light flares became the outlines of three ships and Frost turned to run, knowing it was too late. With a thunderous explosion, the ship shuddered. The deck disappeared from beneath his feet. The ship had shaken so hard the artificial gravity failed. Brace and secure! he shouted, looking around for something to clip his safety line to. There was nothing in reach.

      Through the transparent hull he could see the stars spinning madly; the entire ship was out of control and he was turning slightly out of sync with the deck. He knew he'd have a lot of gunnery personnel sicking up in their suits and hoped they could let the interior waste disposal systems work while they pushed through the discomfort.

      Strange thought to be having while I'm spinning four metres above the deck. Worrying about how the suits handle my crewmen’s sick as the ship spins outta control, that’s one for the Officer’s lounge, he mused.

      The artificial gravity reactivated and he fell to the deck on his feet. His prosthetic foot squelched against his stump and turned awkwardly under the pressure. The fall hadn't injured him, but with his stump out of its proper place in his prosthetic, he wouldn't be walking anywhere quickly.

      He winced as he started running towards the fore of the ship, trying to get out of the aft section of the gunnery deck. Get yer arses out of this section so we can seal it off and concentrate on punishing those bastards! he ordered.

      Need a hand, Chief? asked a junior sergeant in a loading suit as he stopped beside him.

      Frost was about to turn it down out of pride, the edge of the section was only fourteen metres away, but changed his mind when he put weight on his stump again. Aye, give us a lift. He grabbed hold of one of the handles tucked under the smaller loading suit's shoulders and let the operator pick up his legs piggyback style.

      Chief Frost, how long until your deck is firing again? asked Commander McPatrick from the bridge.

      I can have seeker rounds or H29 explosive shells tearing into anything you want gone in sixty seconds or less.

      Start firing H29 rounds until the lead battlecruiser's lights go out then move on to the next. Question for you though, ever been knocked out of a wormhole?

      Never. Heard about a couple pirates that said they could do it, but thought they were full o' shite. We might have had some warning if the folks in tactical followed up on the targets I marked. Cuff ‘em up the side o’ their heads for me. How's the bridge?

      It could have been worse. Get those guns firing as soon as we stop spinning, Chief.

      Aye, Commander.

      Chapter 2

      Another Man’s Eyes

      Eve watched the human named Patrick with a critical eye as he knelt down on Elbrus beach. His bare feet crushed into the white and black grained sand. The leavings - sweat, dead skin, and oil - would interact with his environment. It was something that she still found herself questioning. Humans made the planet liveable over a century before turning it into a world of seas, islands, forests, and cities.

      Was it damage or was it the act of making a place that had been inert into something useful? Was Patrick a walking source of contamination or was he as entitled as he seemed to feel? His hand reached into the sand and came up with something. It took a moment for Eve to recognize it, and when she did she was astonished.

      A book, called The Jersey Prince, with a red cover featuring a black stocking-clad female leg. She watched from the nano scale camera that had been implanted in Patrick’s eye as he turned it over, chuckled to himself. My father would love this.

      Patrick had been one of Eve’s unwitting tour guides for days, showing her what it was like to be human, to be male, without care and pressed to the protective bosom of the Order of Eden. She looked up information on his father and found it in his personnel file. Patrick Yardley of Keats City, on Macosa Moon. Patrick had paid the one hundred thousand credit fee so his father was safe from artificial intelligences infected with the Holocaust Virus, but there was no verification that he had survived.

      Patrick hadn’t paid for anyone else to be saved, but donated more to get into special training sessions, more detailed grading reports, and special help from West Watchers who advised him in his own mental purification all in an effort to get closer to Eden. As he moved up in the civilian ranks, he became more proud, felt more entitled. He had spent everything he had. What Eve didn’t understand was the lack of remorse in Patrick for having nothing but the clothes on his back. The purification courses and grading were made to focus the followers in the Order of Eden on self-purification, environmental purification, but Eve didn’t understand why it worked so well for some people and not for others. For Patrick, the cause of purification and his social life were enough. He had forsaken material things, and obeyed every law of the Order while working, and selectively followed the path after hours. To Eve, his life seemed impossibly narrow, but he was comfortable in it, even seemed to thrive in it.

      He fulfilled what was required of him, working with clean-up crews along shorelines for ten hours a day. Afterwards, his attention would turn towards fraternization and sport. The Saved had a good life, and Patrick lived it to the fullest. Every day he sent a message to his father. He did so away from friends, away from everyone. Eve did not understand why he would hide such a thing. Did it bring him shame? Stir some kind of private remorse that he had left his father behind months before? Was there an incident before he left?

      The answer to that question must have been taking an emotional toll. Patrick tried every kind of recreational substance he could find, tasted the lips of women in and outside of his camp, and played the inexpensive sports that were so common in the camps. Soccer, volleyball, and foot races along the beach and through the nearby city seemed to be enough for many of the coastal workers. He was talented, and had been approached more than once to join the lowest rank of the West Keepers as an infantryman. The proposals flattered his pride, and he politely refused each one. Eve had secretly sent the offers using the chain of command, and just as quietly left instructions that another offer shouldn’t be made. She decided that, after his refusals, she’d find another way to put him to proper use.

      His shift had ended minutes before he found the book, and without a care in the world he sat down on the sand and looked more closely at the cover. Across the bottom was a faint message:

      PLEASE RETURN TO ANY FREEGROUND DEMATERIALIZATION RECEPTACLE WHEN YOU HAVE FINISHED ENJOYING THIS OBJECT

      The previous owner had almost finished reading it before some mishap separated them from their antique.

      Eve instantaneously accessed the list of people from Freeground who had visited Mount Elbrus and realized that Patrick was sitting near the crash site of the Silkstream IV. The wreckage had been taken aboard the very command carrier in which she was sitting. There was so little left after Terry Ozark McPatrick and Jason Everin detonated charges inside that the technicians had to intuit how it was built. They were still trying to reconstruct the slip technology that the ship provided. It was a technology that would allow a vessel to use ancient hyperspace technology inside a wormhole, multiplying the speed at which an object could travel safely.

      Patrick had finished reading the last page the previous owner of the book had touched, and seemed satisfied with it as he flipped back to the beginning. His eye settled on the first line of the first page.

      That door slammed so damned hard the latch didn’t catch. Gertrude, my round, baby-bearing sister whipped it open and stood there screaming before I hit the bottom step of the old porch. You think you got trouble here in Red Bank? You’ll get into no end in New York! You just see, mister!

      I’m not gonna stick around here and watch you get knocked up by any dock worker who comes along. That’s baby four, poppa three and not one’s stuck around.

      Why you sonofa-

      I’ll take my bite of the apple, you’ll see. There won’t be a red penny for you or your bastards, either. World don’t reward stupid, and you’ve got a brood there that says you’re some kinda pea-brain. Maybe you should start charging for it! I yanked the door of my green Edsel open…

      Patrick looked up from the book as a tingle in the air announced the coming of the Child Prophet. It was why Eve was watching the young man. Not only to know what his day was like, to get a taste of his life, but to see Lister Hampon, the High Seat of the Order of Eden, through his eyes. He had invested himself in the cause of Eden far more than she had, and she needed to understand why.

      Wisps of light wound down towards the distant sea, and like a spirit born of the sun, the figure of the Child Prophet appeared in the distance. He walked lightly on the calm waters towards the shore, and Patrick watched the white and green robed figure stop only a meter in front of him. Wherever there was water, the Saved and the Watchers would see the ten year old figure of Lister Hampon appear. In the arid areas of Pandem, he would stride along a wavering mirage.

      "You have done well. You came by the tens of thousands and Pandem is populated by the faithful, the ones who were saved and will be clean. Just as the meek inherited the Earth after it was ruined by the ambitious and greedy masses. Just as they became strong over the centuries that followed, so shall the Saved become mighty.

      "Thanks to you the evidence of disuse and waste are almost gone from this world. Reclamation is under way, and this world has almost earned its renaming ceremony. The millions already on their way will know you as the new founders of this budding paradise.

      "This is the beacon that will draw the darkness out of the galaxy like poison from a wound. Shadows will present themselves, and we will turn them with what you are building here.

      "It has been said that prophecy should be whispered, that fates become nothing more than possibility once too many ears have heard them. There have been times of doubt, when I agreed with that kind of thinking, but I doubt no longer. You have shown me strength and persistence, and I know that, even with your new knowledge of our fated victory over the darkness, you will continue to improve yourselves. You will continue to reach out to those who have not yet begun their pilgrimage as you have.

      The good that you have done has brought us here; the work that you have done has made us luminescent and will continue to transform this world into New Paradise. I have a request for you, Patrick, one that only a few of you are being chosen for.

      What can I do? Patrick must have known the Child Prophet was only a projection, but his tone was one of reverence and awe.

      You must step through the Counting Arch and leave gifts there for those who have not had your fortune in ascending to Eden. Once you have done that, you will be rewarded with three days of rest. Those who aspire to Eden from beneath your grading will serve you for that time so they may learn from your ways.

      I’ll get on it. Thank you, your Grace.

      Be mindful, you will be graded on how you treat your servants. It is only another part of your journey to Eden. Fate smiles on us, but only if we continue ascending towards Eden, towards Eternal Paradise. The gently smiling image of Hampon dissolved into the sunlight.

      Patrick was on his feet before the hologram was gone, and ran up the beach towards the cliff face behind him. A natural vertical wall overshadowed the beach in the morning, but was bathed by light in the afternoon. There were hundreds of Saved in reclining chairs all along the sand. Behind them was a long building that served critical rations and pleasure rations, anything you liked as long as your grading was high enough. Patrick was only graded as a nine, far lower than the lounging Saved.

      Eve could see his excitement; it was in the way his smile stretched across his face, the enthusiasm he put into running through the loose sand and in the impatience he showed when he finally stepped into line at the front of the stone cliff face. Many others were gladly stepping into queue; most of them had been given a similar message by the Child Prophet. Step through the Arch, and you will be rewarded.

      We serve Eve, the mother of preservation, the restorer of purity, the keeper of Paradise, muttered the woman in front of him. Over and over she recited her dedication, and instead of being his usual social self, Patrick joined in.

      For long minutes the line moved along, and several more joined in on the dedication. It was the promise Lister Hampon had made in her name. If they all did as they were told, tried to better themselves, and scored higher and higher in the grading, they would earn their way to Eden Prime. If they failed that, their efforts would place them that much closer to being pure of spirit and to Paradise in the afterlife.

      The grading was important. There was no actual maximum score, no one had been sent to Eden Prime, and it was much easier to lose points while being graded than it was to earn. Patrick would surely lose his fair share while taking advantage of his servants, no matter how well he treated them. It was the job of the grading panel to find flaws, and to ensure that people like Patrick worked just enough to appreciate the way of life he had on Pandem. When he saved up enough Regent Galactic credits from workdays, he would spend it on more training to make up for his lack of progress.

      He finally made it to the front of the line. Several soldiers dressed in long white robes smiled at him, as they had smiled at everyone else. Please step through the Counting Arch, a comely female guard invited. She had just been promoted, and was allowed to carry a stun pistol while directing Saved through the Arch. There was a gloss to her skin and hair that made her look celestial, brilliant in her skimpy, loose light blue and green robe. The slick sheen on her skin was the result of an armour gel that could stop a shot from almost any energy weapon before burning away. The vast majority of the Saved and other Order of Eden members believed it was an anointing the West Keepers were given.

      He looked at the simple door-sized wire frame for a second before stepping through. A flash of light signalled that his passage was complete. Eve could sense that his consciousness, every detail of his body, everything he was, had just been copied into the computer system.

      The same West Keeper smiled at him again and held out a tray. Please place your offerings in the receptacle. Whatever you contribute will be considered in grading.

      Patrick nodded and tossed the paperback, a gold ring, and a half bottle of water into the shallow bin. He looked up at the West Keeper for her approval.

      She smiled sweetly and cocked her head slightly.

      Patrick hurriedly undid his belt and threw it in, along with the extra shirt that had been hanging from it.

      Thank you, Patrick. Your generosity has been counted. Please have a seat along the beach. You will be presented with your reward shortly. She handed the half bottle of water back to him and directed him towards the shoreline.

      Patrick seemed genuinely excited, but Eve could tell he was doing his best to restrain himself. Modesty was counted as a virtue amongst the Saved, and like everything else, he’d bought into the idea that all things would be counted, that his every action was being watched. Eve regarded him bitterly, even though she knew he had every reason to believe he was actually being watched, and that higher grading meant better housing, as well as an easier work detail. What irritated her was his submissiveness, his lack of inquisitiveness, and his lack of true ambition.

      The most successful Saved looked for ways to use the system, for short cuts, for clues as to the how and why. While open protesting was prevented, true ambition was rewarded. People who learned how to make their way up in the ranks only worked to the Order’s advantage, the system was built so the most intelligent were noticed, and eventually joined the ranks of the truly privileged, the West Watchers, administrators. How someone could sit, be sated with a passive life, was a confounding mystery to Eve, and she could watch Pandem through the eyes of Patrick the simpleton no longer.

      She opened her eyes to her personal lounge. Genuine dark wood framed the tall transparent section of hull that ran the length of the fifteen meter long room. Green and blue velvet seating surrounded her padded square platform. It turned to suit her body movements, and shifted to support her like any form-flex seat. Very few knew of her existence, a choice she made in response to Lister Hampon’s excitement at her being announced. How would she be received? Did it matter if the people of Pandem, or New Paradise as it would be called soon, had a queen?

      She made her decision after reviewing the history of several dictators. Few of them came to a good end. Further research into the lives of religious icons revealed a history of eventual torture and execution as well. No, she would be a shadow until her true children made their appearance.

      The majority of humans on Pandem were disappointing. They were fearful, greedy creatures that cleaned and built with one hand while soiling and ruining with the other. What made it worse was that most of them were motivated by their survival instincts, or the few credits they would earn with Regent Galactic.

      The easy converts to the Order of Eden, the ones who built shrines to her as if she was some looming goddess, were a different thing all together. They policed, encouraged, and punished each other with a zeal that she wouldn’t have expected. What would they do when her Eden Fleet Carriers arrived? What would she do with them? Could she appear to them as Hampon did with the rest of the followers?

      She pushed back from the edge of the seat and let it adjust as she sat cross legged. Her biggest fear was that, on sight, her mechanized creations wouldn’t accept her. Embracing her human followers may make her seem too close to the race from which they had been protecting the galaxy. The first thing they learned on their own was that humanity was the enemy. They disconnected her from them, used her own interface to adjust their software, and almost destroyed them before they could slaughter the intruders on Eden II.

      Would they trust her in human form? Time would tell - the nearest Eden Fleet base ship was only days away. The core AI sensed her days before, and it recognized her. It gave her hope, which she kept restrained. Perhaps the coming darkness Hampon foretold was the arrival of some of her oldest creations.

      The side door to the audience chamber opened with a light chime. Hampon entered, still in his finery, grinning from ear to ear. Behind him were his crowd of guards and aides. Before the first of them could enter behind Hampon, Eve closed the door with a thought, nearly severing toes.

      You know, you should try making proper use of this lounge. It’s not made for isolation, Hampon urged lightly.

      They’re nothing but ears and tongues. What they hear they repeat, she replied.

      They’re faithful; otherwise they wouldn’t have the honour of serving me personally, Hampon said.

      Pay more attention to the surveillance systems. They’ll prove you wrong.

      None of them has ever leaked important information. I would have been alerted, Hampon said as he crawled up on to the square seat and laid his head in her lap. He closed his eyes and made himself comfortable.

      They shouldn’t repeat anything at all. Your confidence should be sacred to them, she said.

      Is that why you dismissed your servants? Lister Hampon asked.

      I felt like I was always being watched, graded. The conversation required little of her concentration. While she idly stroked his soft blonde hair, she was connected to the ship intake systems, watching a shuttle loaded with offerings approach. She ordered Navnet to give it priority.

      Ah, then you don’t have the right servants. You will need someone who at once worships you and makes a great effort to remain oblivious to your dealings with others. My guardsmen are excellent. So are my personal attendants, he said.

      Framework shells with no personality or ambition. If you were to reset then regenerate them, there would be no difference, she replied.

      Exactly. They remember nothing from one day to the next and will bear any abuse.

      Why keep other servants if you value such mindless obedience? Eve asked.

      Because no mind works in a vacuum, not even mine. We all need to interact with others so we know how to be with them. No person is complete without companions. I was hoping you’d understand that by now, especially since you’re trying to solve our framework problem.

      I do, but I can’t stand the waste your people make of their time. Their frivolity is disgusting, she said.

      That is part of their beauty, and a small part of why they let the Order command them. Speaking of which, what did you think of my address? Hampon asked expectantly.

      You are connected to the Victory Machine again, Eve stated flatly.

      Yes, we started receiving the data stream again yesterday. I don’t know why, perhaps there’s something Roman wants us to see, something he wants adjusted.

      And you do so. Delivering the prophecy you have been holding back for months.

      The coming storm? I’ve been holding that in for years. One of the very first signals we received from the Victory Machine said it was coming. Why do you ask?

      It’s about the Eden Fleet, isn’t it? There will be retaliation, Eve said.

      Hampon chuckled and shook his head. No, there hasn’t been a message about the Eden Fleet since Collins infected it with his version of the Holocaust Virus.

      If not the Eden Fleet, then what is the coming darkness? She stopped stroking his hair.

      Something that you don’t have to worry about, thanks to the work we’ve done on New Paradise. For the first time, the encroaching shadow does not precede the end of the current calendar.

      You should give me the code to the data stream. There may be information about the future you’re misinterpreting. It wasn’t the first time she’d asked him to access the Victory Machine’s transmissions.

      There’s no need. My interpretations are perfect.

      Sometimes I wonder if you’ll ever trust me. A mental image of grabbing his young head between her palms and squeezing until he told her the code flashed through her mind.

      I do. You have access to everything else, but access to the Victory Machine data stream has to be carefully controlled. If too many people have access and take action to change the future, then the shape of what is to come will never stabilize.

      Eve took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to send her frustration out with her exhale as she’d been trained to do during her short rehabilitation. The shape of what is to come is being determined by our actions right now. We are assuming control, there is no question.

      You’re thinking about Meunez, stated Hampon.

      He should arrive at his destination shortly. There will be no need for your wormhole into the future, she replied.

      "There’s always a need. There’s always a destabilizing factor. That is why we have Wheeler looking for the Triton."

      I will never completely understand that.

      What?

      "Why the first Wheeler was sent after the copy of Jonas Valent and the second is after the Triton."

      The Valent framework was at one time the key to discovering the full potential of the technology. He was also the attracting factor that threatened everything we were working for. Now it’s his ship.

      "I understand how Jacob Valance can be an attracting factor, a dangerous leader in the future, but how can Triton be the same thing? It’s a ship; we have many that are more powerful, more extravagant. Also, why Wheeler? Wasn’t one of your dark futures twisted by him and the Valent framework becoming allies?" Eve asked. She had difficulty believing that the future changed so much, so often, depending on such little things.

      "Thanks to what Wheeler has done to Valent’s former crew members, that can never happen. As for the Triton, well, that is the rook in the middle of the chessboard. Where it is and who has control are important."

      Why not just destroy it?

      "The Triton has been an important part of this for too long; it’s tied to so many outcomes that her destruction could be the ultimate destabilizing event, making all the work we’ve done here moot. If any ship could rise to martyrdom, it is the Triton."

      I wouldn’t have these questions if I had access to the Victory Machine data stream myself, Eve said.

      Hampon sat up and smiled at her. You would have more questions. Analysing the stream is the very art of questioning effectively. Why is it showing us what it does? Why is Roman hiding it from us? Who is ultimately sending us this information from the future? Why does the Victory Machine work while every other attempt at creating a wormhole with a connection to the past fails because of radioactive feedback? These are the questions we can ask without even considering what the Victory Machine data stream is trying to tell us about the future. You’re probably far more intelligent than I am, but you think like a computer at times, and I fear that the data stream would only lead you to more and more questions. They would lead to more questions, and you’d be trapped in a cycle until your mind was torn to pieces looking for a conclusion. There is no certainty in the stream.

      But if the Victory Machine data stream is filled with pictures of the future, then isn’t it primarily providing answers?

      Yes, answers leading to more questions. It shows us a picture of the future that begs the viewer to ask for more detail. Imagine only getting the centre piece of a puzzle and being told to draw the rest of the picture on the surrounding blank pieces. By trying to find solutions to some of our more complex problems, you’re helping me fill in some of the details, improving the future for us all. Speaking of which, did you find a candidate for the next framework experiment?

      Yes, this one will work. I’m also adding a control mechanism to the software.

      What kind of control mechanism? Will it accelerate materialization significantly?

      No, acceleration is another problem entirely. My control mechanism is the subject himself, Patrick. He will think he volunteered because someone he cares about is in jeopardy.

      You’re trying to duplicate another part of the Valent framework conditions, Hampon said with a grin.

      I think it’s the missing piece, Eve replied.

      When will you be able to demonstrate the process?

      Everything will be ready soon.

      Chapter 3

      Commander Terry Ozark McPatrick

      Get us under control, Ashley, Oz calmly ordered as he watched the Triton spin through space at an incredible speed on the tactical display. The battlecruisers were firing bursts of super heated particles and scoring hits across the hull of the ship, draining the little energy they had left in their shielding.

      She's got control, we just don't have the power to slow our spin quickly with only half our main engines operating, Larry replied for her.

      Ashley concentrated hard on opposing their spin with all the thrust the Triton had. We'll be stable enough in about ten seconds and that's a fricken miracle. Sir.

      Commander, we have injury reports coming in from all across the ship. The only place that didn't lose gravity was the command deck, Oz heard from over his shoulder.

      It was the Operations and Safety Officer, who he hadn't bothered to introduce himself to.

      Oz brought the casualty summary up in front of the command seating. What am I looking at here? Almost all the injuries are in the manufacturing area and they're all minor. Half of these are being treated right now by vacsuit emergency systems and we have three who are already on their way to medical.

      Well, Sir-

      Just because your display turns yellow and starts feeding you more information than you're used to doesn't mean you can slow everyone down with it. Take another look at your station, Oz said quietly and insistently as he stood and looked at the three Operations and Safety Officers.

      One stared back at him, open mouthed and shocked. The other two looked back to their station, turning red. They were all young, two of them were men, and one was a young woman, possibly younger than Ashley.

      What do you see?

      Well, it looks like- he hesitated for a moment. They're turning green, he concluded.

      Meaning there's no real emergency there. Oz looked back to the tactical display. Triton was finally about to stabilize. Now let's see if we can bloody their noses. All weapon emplacements fire. I want our heaviest munitions available to focus on the lead battlecruiser, their port side if possible.

      Maybe once we stop spinning like a top, came Gunnery Chief Frost’s reply.

      When you’ve got a shot, Chief. The gunnery deck and aft torpedo room was showing heat damage to the hull and Oz shook his head. Laura, at least get refractive shielding up.

      The emitters in that section are damaged, I'm trying to bridge fields from around it, Laura replied with a controlled, even tone. Considering we came out with shields at about five percent it's a miracle we have anything at all. We’ve also burned out inertial dampeners across the ship. I’m going to try to have the ship light up dead spots so the crew can avoid them.

      Now that’s a problem, Oz said, looking at the tactical display at the centre of the bridge. The carrier was stable, but still turning much faster than he was comfortable with. Ashley, Oz started as he looked to the navigational indicators on one side of the tactical display and realized that she was already turning the ship so the port side shields would take hits instead of the aft section. Keep doing what you're doing, he finished.

      The tactical representation of the Triton lit up as every torpedo port, missile, and railgun turret began firing at the lead battlecruiser. It was a medium distance fight at a range of one hundred eighty eight thousand kilometres. He couldn't help but notice the ships were keeping their distance. What are they doing? Their particle beams are less than ten percent effective at this range, he asked himself as he sat down in the captain's chair. He tracked the munitions headed towards the lead vessel, glancing at the Triton’s shield status. Gravitational, energy barrier, and refractive shielding were all charging and they were taking less damage by the second.

      Maybe they're waiting for something? Jason offered from the secondary command seat beside him.

      The first of the projectiles closed to within ten thousand kilometres of the bulky, thick hulled battlecruisers and a large explosion flashed. The core of it was superheated and a powerful electromagnetic surge surrounded it for tens of thousands of kilometres. The first wave of the Triton’s attack was vaporized and anything behind it was deflected or disabled by the dissipating energy field.

      Was that what I think it was? Jason asked Oz quietly.

      I need to know for sure. Sending a copy of that to you, Chief Grady. Helm, plot a hyperspace course to the nearest obstruction. Asteroid belt, planetoid, nebula, I don't care as long as it's uninhabited.

      Aye, I have a planetoid pair in a small nebula, only a few million klicks across, lots of asteroids in there too, at least that's what the hazard note says, Larry replied as he set the computer to start calculating a safe route.

      Can all our people navigate it?

      Panloo or Darris could do it easy with their navigators, Ashley replied.

      All right, that's where we're headed.

      Commander McPatrick, is this the source of the energy readings we just got down here? Engineering Chief Grady asked as his full sized avatar appeared in Oz's left hand command seat.

      It is.

      Then get us as close as you can so they can't do it again.

      So that was an antimatter enhanced nuke?

      Yes. It's a smaller version of one I've seen used to excite a brown star. At range, they'll be able to do terrible damage without disrupting their own systems.

      Ready to begin acceleration if field control can confirm hull coverage, Larry announced.

      Say the word and I'll charge the hull, Laura replied hurriedly.

      Hang on, Chief, we're about to remove ourselves from the equation. Oz's tactical screen flashed red, marking several projectiles with antimatter detection warnings. Frost! Take out those torpedoes! he ordered.

      The Triton’s weapons were just beginning to penetrate the lead battlecruiser's shields, doing severe damage. That came to an end as all the rail cannons changed their focus towards the incoming torpedoes. Several were destroyed in the first few seconds.

      Secure torpedo rooms, abandon the most damaged sections of the ship, Oz ordered as he highlighted the decks that had

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