Starship Hellbent

Chapter 1

Nation/Alliance: Starship Hellbent Federation

Captain: Quinna Sheldon

Class: Defensive Flagship—Military

Built: Construction began 2994CE

Operational: 3001CE

Length: 1729 meters

Max. Population: 49, 000 humanoid

Non-Humanoid Accomodation: none

Floor Area: 612,345 square meters

Deck/floor count: 57 mixed use, 40 maintenance and restricted access, 13 docking and/or shuttle bays

Plumbing: 1.7 million liters water circulated daily

Transportation: 112 podlifts

"Several hours ago we intercepted a general distress call on long range comms." General Quinna Sheldon stood as she addressed the Starship Hellbent Federation Defense Assembly.

Several dozen captains, advisers, and academics were gathered in the mission ready room of the Federation, the Hellbent Federation's defensive flagship. The assembly sat along five concentric circles of seats, ascending towards the outer edges of the room like a coliseum. Most seats were filled, a few occupied by holographic avatars of distant participants. A large black sphere rested in the center: a holo-display, presently blank, beside which the General stood. Above the assembly, a clear ceiling gave an unobstructed view of Venus.

General Sheldon stood with a stony face and chin high. She spoke commandingly, and though physically small, her posture and presence exuded strength.

"The signals originated from the Clarion mining colony in Caldwell 57."

The holo-display lit up with an image of the distant star system.

"The colony was completely destroyed in an attack by an invasion fleet of unknown origin. They had a population of nearly three thousand. As far as we can tell, there were no more than a few hundred survivors: some colonists who were operating starships in the area were able to escape, and evidently a few ground crews survived the initial attack. This data—" Captain Sheldon motioned to the holo-display "—was transmitted by colony ships leaving the area." The display projected the alien invasion force. An ethereal fleet of holographic vessels hung in the air before the eyes of the Defense Assembly. "The survivors on the ground have requested assistance... and those who escaped have asked for an escort out of the region. The most critical question at the moment is the identity of the attackers. Naturally there has been some speculation that they are an alien species. However, it appears that they are in fact human. Visiting Professor Ramirez will explain."

An older woman stood up from the outermost ring. Her orange uniform indicated an academic, non-military role.

"Emily Ramirez," she introduced herself. "Professor of history. Yes, it's my belief that we're dealing with humans: descendants of an extremist religious cult known as 'Jehovah's Catechumen', who left the Earth over eight centuries ago. These people believed they were commanded by their god to head to the stars. They were a small group, not much more than a thousand, who constructed a colony vessel, called the Messiah, for a leap of faith—so to speak. That was the last we heard from them, until the attack on Clarion." Professor Ramirez looked towards the holo-display. "Take note of the shape of the attack ships." She motioned towards the holographic attack vessels floating above the assembly. "Their architecture is styled after the historically prominent Christian religious icon, the cross. But even more decisive is this..." She tapped a control panel, and the armada of holographic vessels was replaced by a single, cross-shaped starship "This is the Messiah: the very same vessel used by the Catechumen to leave our star system eight hundred years ago. It was spotted among the invasion ships on Clarion."

"Thank you Professor Ramirez." General Sheldon deactivated the projector, and Professor Ramirez returned to her seat. "So we know they're human. But there is a lot we don't yet know. Our job here today is to complete a full tactical assessment and, ultimately, decide on an appropriate response."

Captain Morgan Gaisler felt a call to action. He stood from his station. He had a large, muscular frame, honed from a lifetime of athletics and combat training, and the face of a warrior, with broad, chiselled bone structure visible under a well trimmed beard.

"Captain Morgan Gaisler," he introduced himself to the assembly, standing tall. "I volunteer to lead the rescue effort. My ship, the Excalibur, is well suited to a mission of this nature."

Across several rows, Captain Gills loudly cleared his throat. Eyes turned towards the gruff, bearded old man, seated in the second inner-most row. Gills was known for his conservative defensive posturing. "This colony..." Gilss leaned forward "...is or I should say 'was', an independent entity, without any alliances or treaties that I am aware of, operating well outside of our territorial jurisdiction. If I'm not mistaken, Caldwell 57 is over one and a half million light years away. And, while they were descended from Sol, quite Frankly this doesn't seem to be any of our business. We can't go jumping to the rescue of anyone just because they happen to be human."

"But those people need our help, Captain Gills."

"It's none of our concern, Captain Gaisler. Would you have us put the Federation at risk to go play the hero in another galaxy?"

"I'm not saying we should go to war. But I'm willing to take my ship to help them," Morgan said, standing firm.

"Your ship isn't my concern," Gills growled. "We have managed to protect the Federation and all its people for centuries by following one, very simple strategy: keep our distance. The less reason we give others to be interested, the less reason we have to fear them".

Fear. Morgan mentally repeated the word. That's your motivation. But that's not the motivation of a warrior.

"I agree with your assessment, Captain Gills," General Sheldon interjected, shifting her eyes to Morgan. "Perhaps I should have been more clear. I do not believe rescue to be a feasible option, nor is it our responsibility."

Morgan felt a hot rush of embarrassment running up his neck as his misreading of the situation was publicly corrected. It did not help that he was a young captain, and now sensed that others were looking down on him. He awkwardly sat back down.

General Sheldon's eyes scanned across the ranks of the assembly. "That being said, the scale and nature of this attack concerns me. The appearance of this force represents a possible shift of power. Being aware of this shift, and responding to it accordingly, falls absolutely within our duties to the Federation. To be clear..." Quinna's eyes tracked back in Morgan's direction "...a rescue mission per se is out of the question. However, a reaction may be warranted based on the tactical dimensions. There may be strategic value in intervening in some capacity."

Morgan tried to listen as the assembly discussed the situation, but he was distracted by a persistent inner dialogue. Was it so foolish to assume they would attempt a rescue? Was it really so out of the question to think that an unprovoked attack on a helpless colony would go unanswered?

Thousands of innocent people dead and hundreds in need of help: there must be something that could be done to help them.

The assembly continued debating for over an hour, going over the tactical value of the Clarion mining colony, not much. The distance from Hellbent, the number of wormholes extending from the region, the likelihood of an attack on Hellbent from the Catechumen, and a host of other assessments that Rolland felt were ultimately irrelevant to the need to help the victims on Clarion.

Morgan didn't jump back into the conversation, though. He felt that, for this meeting anyways, he may have lost some measure of credibility. He was beginning to lose hope that the Federation would offer assistance.

A middle-aged man in a grey uniform stood: a droid compliance agent, responsible for enforcing strict regulations against the use of artificial intelligences.

"What concerns me most about these interlopers—these 'Catechumen'," he spoke slowly, "is that they left the Earth prior to the Robot Wars. Presumably, they lack our understanding of the dangers of robotics, and they are not aware of the compliance laws. It's been nearly a thousand years since their last contact: more than enough time to build a robot army. For all we know, there are no humans left on those attack ships." He paused, and the assembly felt the weight of the ominous speculation.

Captain Gills stood. "The threat of a robot army should not be ignored. I would support the assignment of an envoy to the Catechumen. It would be beneficial to establish a common understanding, and we can use the opportunity to assess their use of robotics."

Morgan sensed a shift in the direction of the assembly. If the conservative Gills supported intervention, it almost certainly meant that a ship would be assigned to the area.

General Sheldon addressed the assembly. "Are there any objections to the assignment of an envoy for this purpose?"

From the innermost circle of chairs, adjacent to the general, Wazir Levy Alhum stood. He was tall, just over six feet. His blue, flowing uniform stood out from the tight-fitting and clean pressed outfits of the military personnel. The folds of fabric, shoulder pads, and cape of the Wazir uniform hid Alhum's excessive skinniness, which was visible only by his sunken eyes and pointy cheekbones.

"I sense great danger from these strangers," Alhum cautioned ominously.

No shit, Morgan thought to himself, they just killed thousands of people. He had his doubts about the value of the Wazirs. Nothing he had ever seen or heard convinced him they were anything more than charlatans.

"All the more reason to talk to them," Gills interjected. "To find out what threat they might pose to the Federation."

"Would you caution against intervention?" Quinna asked Alhum.

"Whether intervention is tactically wise I cannot say," Alhum answered.

"What does the vision tell you?"

Alhum appeared to fall into a trance, eyes rolling back into his head. "I see myself in a small chamber with stone walls." His words came slowly. "There are two others there: a Federation captain, and a strange alien with blue skin and purple eyes. The three of us are covered entirely in blood, and there is blood splashed over the walls." His head cocked to the side. "I hear screams of torment all around. This is not a normal place: it has a strange, indescribable quality, dream-like somehow." He shook his head and blinked, apparently returning from his trance. "That is all I can see."

"What does it mean?" Quinna raised an eyebrow.

"I could try to interpret the images, but it would be no better than a guess." Alhum shook his head. "The images are there for anyone to interpret. I am no better positioned for this task than anyone else. Perhaps their meaning will be evident in time. I'm sorry I can't be more clear."

“Of course you can't,” Morgan almost said aloud.

Charlatans can't be too specific: they might get caught out. He could only hope that Alhum's ramblings wouldn't have any influence on the decision.

"Do you sense a danger to the Federation in making contact?" Quinna asked.

"The visions don't show me the Federation," Alhum answered. "They are of some distance place, perhaps even a dream."

"Very well." Quinna paused for a moment. "In that case, if there are no other objections, an envoy will be assigned to intercept the Catechumen on a diplomatic mission."

Morgan now excitedly looked across the assembly. They appeared to be in agreement, bucking their usual xenophobic tendencies. He might get a chance to go on his rescue mission after all.