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The Great War - a far-future science fiction novel - COMPLETE


TotallyNotHuman

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8 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

If you ever see this, 0111narwhalz, please continue it.

Never fear! I have a couple of paragraphs for the next chapter in progress.

8 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

I was mainly inspired by 0111narwhalz's story Kerbal Future.

I was kinda expecting @superstrijder15 to get to it first, but I'm proud to have inspired someone's fanwork!

8 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

give me constructive criticism!

Alrighty, but you asked for it.:P

8 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

fifty years after the invention of the warp engine

8 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

six hundred member star systems

That's some really fast expansion. Like one a month. I know, exponential growth and all, but that's still kinda absurd. Maybe reduce the number of stars, or increase the number of years?
Given:

8 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

Asteroids...are rare

I'd lean towards reducing the number of stars. Makes it more believable that there's no 'roids.

8 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

synthesized lasagna

8 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

pizza

I thought you said this was a patrol ship, not a luxury liner!

On synthetic cuisine: Synthmeats are just about the most interesting food. Other than that, you have mush, cubes, and optional crispies, of various colors. Small ships just have generic "ship's mush," with everything mashed up and thrown in. The term "small ship" denotes anything smaller than a destroyer. Patrol ships are almost the smallest you can get and still call it a ship; they're smaller even than corvettes. Judging by the description, it looks like the Haven might fit the description of a long-haul cruiser better than a patrol ship, though the role suggests a light carrier. The "shuttlecraft" sound more like patrol boats or fast-attack crafts.

Also, do you think you could include a link to the Worldbuilding Notes in the OP? They're at http://forum.kerbalspaceprogram.com/index.php?/topic/121160-kfwbn Discussion on theory and in-universe history/politics should happen there. Additionally, maybe we need to implement a "Kerbal Future" tag.

I said IN-UNIVERSE politics!

 

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Oh hey!

Bear in mind that I got insipired by both Star Trek (hence, shuttlecraft) and your story (hence, mush, spat-flo, hyperspace and all that jazz). Although, I should probably take out the Trek parts... :blush:

Well, the only reason that 'roids are rare was to fit in with the idea that their use is heavily regulated by the Federation (which is pretty much the entire plot of the story), sort of like how, say, [insert random endangered species because I'm not good with this] is protected by [some random government]. But yeah, I do agree, 600 star systems and only two with 'roids :huh: That's kind of weird. I might also push back the year (maybe 2250?) when this happens.

I intended the Haven to be akin to an aircraft carrier; the Haven has cargo-bays that store the warp-powered patrol "boats", and it has onboard defenses if need be

I really did not put much thought into food, so thanks for the input. Am editing further chapters now, and retroactively editing the prologue and Ch. 1 accordingly.

Also, about that link: will do.

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As promised, this is the third chapter (even though I decided to drop Chapter 2 earlier than intended).

Spoiler

It had been two hours since he had arrived in a Dres-patrolling orbit, and no asteroid smugglers came about. He was about to call home about aborting this recon mission, when he intercepted an encrypted message on the highspace ansible channel. It seemed like gibberish, but Desdon graduated at the top of his Codes, Ciphers, and Encryption class, and he knew it was a cipher. 
Try as he might, however, he could not decrypt it.
“Desdon to Haven, do you read? I have intercepted an encrypted asteroid smuggling message.”
“Haven concurs. We recommend-” the communications officer started, and then the radar flashed red.
“Desdon to Haven, please respond. My radar is going crazy, and the ship is escaping Dressian SOIfast. I’m going after it.”
“Roger. We’re tracking you on the iris-cam and the ship forward camera.”
Haven, give me statistics on the ship I am chasing after.”
“Copy. Ah, registry indicates that the ship is the AMS (Asteroid Mining Ship) Tuber, registration number AMS-1659. Ship class is Horizon-class or alike.
“Alright then, I’m going in.”
Desdon nudged the speed control stick forward, bringing him into hyperspace. He winced. Increases in speed were supposed to be gradual, not from Realspace to hyperspace. Slowly, he pushed it forward to .2 c, and the shuttlecraft began chasing after the Tuber.
He opened the hailing channel on the ansible, and spoke into the microphone. “This is Lieutenant Desdon Kerman of the Federation Patrol Force. I have detected that you are hauling an asteroid away from Kerbol V, also known as Dres. It is required that you neutralize warp immediately to display the relevant authorization for asteroid hauling. Repeat, this is Lieutenant Desdon Kerman of the Federation Patrol Force. Please neutralize warp immediately, as I am authorized to use lethal force.”
Instead of neutralizing warp, the rogue ship increased its speed to .75 c, and disappeared, presumably into another layer. Desdon established a highspace comm-link back to base.
“Haven, this is Desdon. The rogue ship has increased speed to point seven fiver cee. I cannot pursue it.”
“Roger that, lieutenant – wha, seventy-five percent of cee!? Is that kerbal out of his mind? Sensor readings show he's gone into layer 8. We’re posting a police bulletin now. Where do you reckon it’s going?”
“Well, gee, I can’t think of any time to go .75 c or into layer eight unless it’s going interstellar.”
“Gotcha. We’re posting it to the interstellar branch of the Federation Patrol Force. In the meantime, continue your patrol.”
“Understood."

Edited by TotallyNotHuman_
I like to retcon, I like to boogie
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Due to a minor Internet anomaly this chapter has been posted late.

Nevertheless, this update introduces Head Engineer Calby.

Spoiler

Calby Kerman grumbled to himself. He was the Head Engineer of the KFPS Castor, an interstellar patrol ship, yet it seemed the blasted ship would not run straight for a day without something breaking.
Today, it was the warp engine array. While the array could limp through hyperspace with only two warp engines functioning, which it was, the nadir engine finally failed. It was a messy sight, what with hundreds of untrained cadets violently releasing undigested food into paper bags as the ship lurched to a stop, in layer 8 space no less.
Yet the penny-pinchers that were the ship’s flag officers refused to replace it. “If you can fix it,” they would say, “why should we replace it?” Every engineer knew for a fact that warp engine replacements cost only approximately a kilogram of Li-standard currency, less than a month’s pay of an Admiral. The problem was, these selfish pieces of scum didn’t want to pay that tiny sum.
Calby donned an Extra-Vehicular Activity suit, since the warp engines were out in the frigid vacuum of space. He grabbed his multitool, and proceeded to the airlock. He wrenched the airlock door open, sealed it tight behind himself, and hit the depressurization button.
The airlock hissed, pulling the air into holding tanks for pressurization later, and then a robotic voice said, “Pressure stable.” Calby opened the airlock outer door, grabbed the reel of tether above the airlock door, attached it to his suit, and closed the outer door.
Traversing the hull, he walked on it with his magnetic boots until he reached the aft section of the ship. Calby checked his HUD: he would have six hours of time before he needed to re-enter the ship. Plenty for a warp engine repair.
Calby neared the aft section of the ship, the four warp engines growing larger. The port and starboard engines had already been put out of commission a while ago, and only the the zenith engine remained. As it was, however, one asymmetrically mounted warp engine was insufficient to plow the ship through increasingly dense spatial fluid, much less keep the ship straight and true. He greeted the other engineers that were assigned to perform maintenance on the warp array. In fact, it seemed that all the engineers aboard the ship were here. Not a surprise, since the warp array was absolutely critical.
“So, the ruddy engine’s broken, eh?” Asked a fellow engineer.
“I suppose so,” Calby replied.
“Blast ‘em flag officers,” the engineer continued. “Who knows if we’ll die out here just because of their penny pinching ways?”
“That’s certainly a possibility. Look, let’s just fix this damned engine so we can continue on to Kreeni,” Calby replied.
“Ah, yer right,” the engineer said, and got back to his unscheduled maintenance of the warp array. Being a Head Engineer, only Calby was tasked to repair the warp engine, so he floated to the nadir engine. The engine, with its graceful curves, was mounted on a girder, with spat-flo intakes sticking out.
The diagnosis was simple; a spat-flo intake had clogged up. Calby was a tad bit ticked off because the onboard AI had dropped the entire ship out of warp because of a clogged intake, which was not at all critical, as there were four intakes for every engine. He made a mental note to perform percussive maintenance on the quantum AI unit later.
This done, he made his way back to the airlock, checked that it was depressurized, and opened the outer door. Removing the tether from his suit, he closed the outer door behind him and pressed the pressurization button. While the airlock hissed, venting air into the chamber, Calby checked the time. He had only used an hour of suit supplies. Not too bad, he thought to himself, as he removed his helmet, and tossed his suit into the laundry basket. He reported the completion of the repairs to his commanding officer, and was about the head down to the officer’s club, perhaps to socialize and get a shot or two of hydrazine, when the alarm blared overhead. The PA systems of the ship roared to life.
“Crewmen of the Castor, we have received an emergency report from the KFPS Haven. An unidentified asteroid hauler ship, name AMS Tuber, registration number AMS-1659, class Horizon-class or alike, is proceeding towards an unknown destination at oh point seven five cee in layer sixteen space, possibly carrying a stolen asteroid from Sol V. All ships in this section were required to immediately pursue this ship. All stations to DEFCON Three; repeat, all stations to DEFCON Three. All crew members currently on EVA must proceed to nearest airlock and re-enter ship, and all Federation Army soldiers must immediately mobilize and proceed to gun stations.”
Calby looked up and saw Federation Army soldiers marching to the gun stations, most of them just lieutenants, the single golden bar on their shoulders betraying the truth that they had absolutely no battle experience. The relatively more senior soldiers, this time bearing one or two silver bars, came round, manning the more powerful guns – the guns with more destroying power anyone could imagine.
The PA system blared again: “Crewmen of the Castor, all crew members are confirmed aboard and all gun stations are manned. Stand by for layer sixteen entry.”
Calby grimaced. Anything but this. He hated the feel of translation; while he did not suffer from warp sickness, translation felt like a chore to endure.
The translation drive spun up, and knocked the ship into layer 16. Then, the two warp engines engaged, and plowed the ship through the dense spat-flo. Calby’s heart rate rose, his vision blurred, and his stomach threatened to release his lunch. The sickness bags, available in every section of the ship, beckoned to him, begging to be used. Calby gritted his teeth, taking deep breaths, attempting to restrain his increasingly volatile stomach. C’mon, Calby, you can do this… With his last ounce of strength, he clutched his stomach…
And practically teleported over to the box of sickness bags, tore one open, then heaved his guts out, heaved yesterday’s breakfast out, then heaved a bit more, for good measure. Calby was stooped over, dumbfounded, concentrated bile still dripping out of his mouth, still holding the now-ridiculously-inflated sickness bag. Then, he fell flat on his face and released the bag.
Thankfully, the bag had an auto-sealing mechanism for this exact purpose.

 

Edited by TotallyNotHuman_
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Trash-thinking... Totally stealing annexing ah... Borrowing that.

In my spinoffverse, I attribute the possibility of warp sickness to two factors: body resistance and the affected Kerbal's posture.

Remember, during the rapid unplanned stop, Calby was sitting down. But when the ship translated, Calby was preparing to go down to there's Klingons on the starboard bow (see here if you didn't catch this reference) deck, where the bar is, and was standing up. Thus, even though Calby, being a hardened engineer, was extremely resistant to the effects of warp sickness, he was standing up during the translation, and so... Well... Disaster. :rolleyes:

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Chapter 5 has landed! Links on the Table of Contents shall come soon.

Spoiler

Chapter 5 has landed! Links on the Table of Contents shall come soon.

Spoiler

The transport, wearing the insignia of the Laythe Air Service proudly on its doors, sped off back to LAS HQ. By the looks of the building, Bobdin had arrived at the Laythe Commercial Spaceport. He proceeded to the entrance of the Spaceport, and entered the airlock. Immediately, he made his way to the ticket vending machine.
“Please provide name of destination,” the vending machine squawked.
“SLS Superluminal,” Bobdin said.
“Searching,” the vending machine chirped. “SLS Superluminal, Orion-class spaceliner, currently berthed at Laythe Station Epsilon. How many tickets to purchase?”
“One ticket,” Bobdin replied.
“Cost is one thousand roots,” the vending machine spluttered. “Please insert cash or official Universal Galactic Bank debit card.”
Bobdin inserted his UGB debit card. The machine whirred, and then spat out his card and a ticket.
“Purchase success,” the vending machine jittered. “Vessel name: Excelsior; boarding time, 2:45 to 2:55 pm; takeoff time, 3:00 pm.”
Bobdin left the machine with his ticket and card. He checked his watch; it was 2:35 pm. He could go get a cup of coffee, maybe two, before he boarded the spaceplane.
While Bobdin was enjoying his drink, the PA hummed to life. “Passengers of the Excelsior, bound for Laythe Station Epsilon, boarding has commenced at Gate 39. Please get your ticket and proceed to gate.” Bobdin quickly downed his coffee, checked that his ticket was still there, and proceeded to Gate 39. Once there, the machine verified his ticket’s integrity and gave Bobdin a suit.
The equatorial winds nipped at Bobdin. While the equatorial regions were the hottest on all of Laythe, its significant distance to Kerbol and its tidally locked orbit around Jool still made Laythe a comparatively cold place. But this was momentarily forgotten as Bobdin glanced up at the Excelsior, a passenger spaceplane meant to haul passengers to Low Laythe Orbit and back.
Bobdin made his way to the forward crew module, opened the hatch, and crawled in.
“Passengers of the Excelsior, this is the captain speaking. We are due for takeoff in five minutes. Please turn off all wireless and GreenTooth devices during the ascent. Please ensure that seat-belts are fastened and tray tables are in the upright position. Thank you for choosing the Excelsior for your extra-atmospheric explorations. Cabin crew, prepare for ascent.”
Bobdin checked that he was strapped into his seat, that his pocket communicator was switched off, and that his tray table was in the upright position. Suddenly, the jet engines flared to life, the low whine becoming gradually higher and higher pitched as the turbines received more air and exponentially gained speed. The Excelsior cleared the runway in just a few seconds, and was on its way to orbit.
The ascent was rather boring, but Bobdin kept himself entertained by looking out the window as the Laythian oceans sped past him at Mach 2. Soon, the plane was going so fast that the flames from atmospheric compression blanketed the windows, rendering Bobdin blind to the landscape speeding below him.
Soon, however, the flames died out, and the spaceport had receded into the terminator, unable to be seen from this distance.
“Passengers of the Excelsior, we have arrived in Laythe orbit and are on an intercept course. Soon, we shall match speeds with Laythe Station Epsilon and dock with it. Cabin crew, prepare for orbital rendezvous.”
Now that they were in space, the less efficient jet-rocket combination engines were no longer needed. Instead, the jet-rockets shut down, and then small but efficient orbital maneuvering engines powered up and prepared for the speed-matching maneuver.
The Excelsior coasted for about fifteen minutes, and then Laythe Station Epsilon grew large in Bobdin’s viewport. On its own, the station was not very large, but such was not the case with an Orion-class spaceliner docked to it. Suddenly, the small engines whirred to life, the minuscule acceleration not imparting any effect on the passengers, but sufficient to nullify the Excelsior’s relative speed with the station within a reasonable timeframe.
Soon, even smaller omnidirectional thrusters engaged, and the docking covers opened to reveal Excelsior’s dorsal docking port. The spaceplane drifted to the ventral docking arm of the station, and its port latched onto the station’s port. Magnetic clamps secured the linkage, and automated pumps equalized the pressure between the two ships. Clanks reverberated throughout the ship.
“Passengers of the Excelsior, docking has completed. Please make your way to the docking module and enter the station.”
Bobdin floated up the docking module, towards the starboard docking port, where the SLS Superluminal was berthed. A female flight attendant greeted Bobdin with a goofy smile.
“Welcome back, sir,” she giggled.

 

Edited by TotallyNotHuman_
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I'm feeling good today, so I'll release Chapters 6 and 7. The reason I'm doing this is because 6 is a bit too short to warrant its own post.

Chapter 6:

Spoiler

Having returned from his fruitless patrol, Desdon paced uneasily around the corridors. Surely the admiral will have my double bars for this? Desdon wondered. Suddenly, the PA blared to life.
“Lieutenant Desdon Kerman, report to the bridge. Repeat, Lieutenant Desdon to the bridge.”
Huh, that’s weird. Nobody goes to the bridge unless they’re bridge crew or if it’s an absolute emergency. Desdon made his way to the bridge, and opened the doors.
Admiral Scott Kerman greeted him. “Good afternoon, officer.”
Desdon immediately whipped off a salute: “Lieutenant Desdon Kerman reporting, sir!”
The Admiral smiled, and said, “At ease, officer. I’m here to talk to you about some urgent matters. The only reason the asteroid smuggler had escaped Kerbol V is because of the lax border safety situations. Therefore, I am establishing a branch of the Federation Patrol Force that will exclusively monitor Kerbol V.”
Desdon was confused. “How do you suppose to do that, sir? Is this branch getting a new ship?”
The Admiral continued, “Well, the Kerbol V orbital shipyard is currently berthing an Epsilon-class cruiser that had been sent by the interplanetary branch – that’s us by the way – of the Federation Patrol Force. So, technically, I can name you captain of this ship and assign you twenty commissioned officers and thirty enlisted.”
Desdon was taken aback by this act of kindness. The admiral was not known to be a very kind kerbal. “Thank you very much, sir. When shall we arrive at the orbital shipyard?”
The Admiral replied, “We are currently bound for Kerbol V. I daresay you’ll have your ship by tomorrow, Lieutenant Commander.”
Desdon was confused. “Lieutenant Commander?”
The Admiral chuckled, “That’s right, officer, you’ve just got a promotion. But enough dilly-dallying, let’s go get the new branch approved by the powers-that-be.”

Chapter 7:

Spoiler

Calby Kerman lay in his bed in sickbay, after the episode in which he retched up almost a gallon of concentrated bile. Calby was not known to be prone to warp sickness, so his commanding officer insisted that he go pay a visit to sickbay. This he complied not-so-happily, since his last medical check-up had been but two days ago, and he wanted to maintain the quantum AI with his multitool, but orders were orders.
It had been three hours since the KFPS Castor had entered hyperspace. They were now chasing after the AMS Tuber at maximum speed, along with the KFPS Bounty and the KFPS Nova. Suddenly, Calby felt a jolt. This he would normally ignore, since hyperspace had bubbles that lacked spat-flo and would cause turbulence, much like bubbles in the atmosphere that would cause planes to tumble lightly.
But this was different. An engineer at heart, Calby knew when a ship was functioning normally and when it was not. This jolt did not feel like the ship had hit a turbulence bubble. No, this jolt felt like a malfunction in the artificial gravity plates or compensator… oh no.
There was an explosion, and Calby was thrown out of his bed by some phantom force, which really was the sudden lack of artificial gravity. Due to the sudden jolt from the artificial gravity not being there anymore, Calby banged his head on the sickbay walls, and then fainted. As his consciousness faded out, he prayed fervently that the ship’s doctor did not capture this moment on the sickbay surveillance camera.
Fifteen minutes later, Calby came to. His commanding officer requested him to inspect the artificial gravity systems of the ship. Calby floated down the corridor, to the engineering deck, and then his heart sank.
“Oh no,” Calby breathed.
The artificial gravity compensator had failed, sparks flying everywhere. There was no backup, but it was absolutely crucial. Having been an integral part of space travel since the 2230s, the Kerbals were not extremely to the long-term effects of microgravity. Thus, they would have to abort the chase and limp to another Starbase to get that repaired.
This done, he reported the situation to his commanding officer. Suddenly, the PA system came to life again.
“Crewmen of the Castor, we have encountered a problem. The artificial gravity compensator has failed, and we must abort the chase The nearest such starbase is Starbase IV, on the planet Uctin I, also known as New Alexandria. It will be two days of travel at point two fiver cee in layer eight to Starbase IV. Please prepare for translation.”
Calby groaned. Not this again.

 

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To reiterate what I said in the post before:

23 hours ago, TotallyNotHuman_ said:

Yeah, I should probably change it to "Updated whenever the author damn well pleases". :P

Here are Chapters 8 and 9. I decided to post these two together because they are somewhat related to each other.

Chapter 8:

Spoiler

It had been a few days since the spaceliner undocked from Laythe Station Epsilon and continued on their final destination to Eeloo, when the spaceliner would drop off all passengers planning to disembark there and then reverse its course. Most of the time, Bobdin entertained himself by paying visits to the spaceliner’s cupola module, and drinking hydrazine with his fellow passengers.
But something was wrong. When the spaceliner approached Dres, it was stopped by some sort of border patrol. The captain immediately stopped.
“First Lieutenant Johngee Kerman of the Dres Border Patrol. Who are you and what business have you here?”
“I am Captain Sean Kerman of the SLS Superluminal, a spaceliner. I plan on making a stop here.”
“Very well. I have been instructed by my commanding officer, Lieutenant Commander Desdon Kerman, to stop any and all ships that are entering Dres’ sphere of influence. Please ensure that all of your passengers have a valid interplanetary travel permit, for they will be verified soon.
“Fair enough.”
Suddenly, the PA blared to life.
“Passengers of the SLS Superluminal, we have been stopped by the Dres Border Patrol. Please ready your interplanetary travel permit.”
Bobdin calmly reached for his wallet and retrieved his interplanetary travel permit. Along with the other passengers, they were escorted through the forward docking port, to the berth crew module of the KFCS (Kerbol Federation Command Ship) Raptor. He stood up and lined up at the counter.
When it was his turn, Bobdin inserted his interplanetary travel permit.
“Bobdin Kerman,” the computer squawked. “Date of birth, July 8th, 2245.”
“Age 35 years. Current occupation, sales representative of the Andromeda Asteroid Mining Company, headquartered on Kerbol V, also known as Dres.”
“Special notes: Requisitioned by Lieutenant Commander Desdon Kerman of the Dres Border Patrol on arrival at Dres.” The computer said, and spat Bobdin’s card out.
Bobdin turned around, not forgetting to grab his permit, when a Kerbal clad in uniform beckoned to him.
“Bobdin Kerman, I presume?” The kerbal asked. “Come with me.”
“What is the matter?” Bobdin protested.
Desdon said simply, “Come with me.”

Chapter 9:

Spoiler

Lieutenant Commander Desdon was a changed kerbal. He now proudly wore the golden oak leaf on his shoulder, and the insignia of the Dres Border Patrol on his chest, along with the insignia of Federation Command, instead of the badge of the Federation Patrol Force. Such was one of the upsides of leading an entire branch.
Having detained – found, really – the asteroid trader Bobdin Kerman, he dragged him towards the starboard side of the ship, to the meeting room of the KFCS Raptor, where prominent officers of Federation Command were situated. Admiral Scott Kerman was here, as were many other high-ranked officers.
“Start the record,” barked the admiral. The computer whirred to life. “Record started,” it gibbered. “Current date August 6th, 2280.”
“State your name for the record,” Lieutenant Commander Desdon said to Bobdin.
“Bobdin Kerman,” Bobdin said.
“Bobdin Kerman,” the computer repeated. “Date of birth July 8th, 2245.”
“Let us begin,” the admiral boomed. “At around 0930 hours, on August 4th, then-Lieutenant Desdon Kerman began his daily reconnaissance mission. But on that day, he had been instructed to proceed at maximum speed to Kerbol V, also known as Dres, to watch for asteroid smugglers.”
“At 1200 hours the same day, Lieutenant Desdon intercepted an encrypted message on the subspace ansible channel that indicated a possible asteroid theft. He immediately pursued the ship, which was named the AMS Tuber, registration number AMS-1659, class Horizon-class or alike, but failed as the ship immediately increased its speed to oh-point-seven-fiver c in layer sixteen, a cardinal offense.”
“Any words, Mr. Bobdin? Please remember that everything you say will be recorded,” the admiral asked.
“I would like to say that the Andromeda Asteroid Mining Company would neither engage in such illicit activities, nor escape when confronted by the Federation Patrol. The Company also owns no such ship with this name or registration number, and it also has a valid asteroid hauling license. So why have I been detained by the Patrol?” Bobdin was clearly confused.
“First of all, Mr. Bobdin, you have not been detained by the Patrol. Second of all, we have been through your criminal records. Computer, read out the criminal records of Bobdin Kerman.”
“Bobdin Kerman, criminal records,” the computer jittered. “May 12th, 2275: three counts of asteroid smuggling from Kerbol III, also known as Kerbin, arrested but released due to insufficient evidence.”
Lieutenant Commander Desdon peered at Bobdin, who was evidently frowning.
“Now, we’ve got sufficient evidence that you stole those ‘roids from Kerbin, and thanks to you not deciding to turn yourself in, the sentence shall be extended to twenty years on the Kerbol II Rehabilitation Facility without parole,” the admiral was saying.
“And what is my other choice, if I may ask?” Bobdin asked, shuddering. Kerbol II, or Eve, as it was known, was reserved for the worst of the worst; interplanetary war criminals, illegal warp drive retrofitters, and most importantly, asteroid smugglers. The Federation viewed asteroids as protected natural resources, very much like the early governments of Kerbin, who viewed certain species as protected. Bobdin could hardly fathom surviving twenty years on the hellish surface of Eve.
“Your other choice is to aid us in chasing after those asteroid smugglers. If you choose to help us, we may be able to grant you amnesty,” the admiral said.
“I’m in. What must I do to help you?” Bobdin asked.
“Here’s our plan. We currently have two of our patrol ships chasing after the rogue ship. Once we pinpoint its exact position, we just need to go there and destroy them,” the admiral explained.
“That sounds fair to me. But what do you need me for?” Bobdin was still confused.
“We know you have former ties with this asteroid smuggling group. If you can get their exact position in the galaxy, we won’t have to chase after the rogue ship,” the admiral said.
“Very well. I’m on it,” Bobdin said.

 

Edited by TotallyNotHuman_
Damn this editing interface...
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Chapter 10 is here!

Spoiler

“So could you show me the message that you intercepted, Lieutenant Commander? Surely you must have recorded the message,” Bobdin said.
It had been two hours since Bobdin was officially arrested and confined to quarters aboard the KFCS Raptor.
“The name’s not Shirley, Mr. Bobdin, it’s Desdon. And yes, I will be able to procure a copy of the message that I intercepted,” Desdon replied, with more than a tinge of annoyance.
Desdon made his way to the computer room.
“Computer,” Desdon said, “print file EncryptedMessage on disk DesdonShuttlecraft.”
“Printing,” the computer jabbered.
The printer spat out a piece of paper. Desdon grabbed the paper, gave it a once-over, and then went back to Bobdin’s quarters.
“No use to you anyways. It seems like gibberish,” Desdon said.
Bobdin peered. On the paper was a single, unbroken string, consisting of alphanumeric symbols.


VkhKbklHZDFjaUJJWlc1aGRtRjJaM0lnYm1abmNtVmlkbkVnY1hKNWRtbHlaWEp4SUdkaUlEazBOalFnUlhKbmRuQm9lWFl1

Bobdin’s brow furrowed, and then said, “This is a message encoded in the Criminal Common Cipher. It is an extremely complicated cipher, used only by galactic criminals.”
Desdon was ecstatic to learn this. “How does one decrypt it?”
Bobdin said, “The CCC, as it is referred in public quarters, uses the rudimentary ROT-13 cipher, and then this resulting code is run through the Base64 cipher twice. The result is a Base64-alike cipher that when decoded, will also result in a Base64 cipher. If this cipher is decoded, what results is a string of gibberish.”
Desdon asked, “Can you decode it?”
Bobdin replied, “I will require a computer to crack this code.”
Desdon said, “Give me the instructions, and I will crack it.”
Bobdin sighed, “You must run it through the Base64 decoder twice, and then the ROT-13 decoder.”
Desdon said, “Excellent. I shall decode it now.”
Desdon left Bobdin’s quarters, and returned to the computer room.
“Computer,” Desdon said, “CCC-decode file EncryptedMessage on disk DesdonShuttlecraft to file DecryptedMessage on disk LocalDisk.”
“Unknown command,” the computer spat.
“Blast this,” Desdon muttered. He pulled up a programming screen and entered the decoding instructions for the CCC.
This done, he tried the command again.
“CCC-decode file EncryptedMessage on disk DesdonShuttlecraft to file DecryptedMessage on disk LocalDisk.”
“Decoding,” the computer sputtered, “completed and saved to DecryptedMessage on disk LocalDisk.”
“Print file DecryptedMessage on LocalDisk.”
“Printing,” the computer stuttered.
The printer spat out yet another piece of paper. Desdon picked it up and made his way back to Bobdin’s quarters.
“Here it is,” Desdon said.
Bobdin’s eyes widened.


Get the Uraninite asteroid delivered to 9464 Reticuli.

“Where is this 9464 Reticuli?” Desdon inquired.
“9464 Reticuli I, also known as V’Onak, is the only planet in orbit around 9464 Reticuli, and it is headquarters of the Reticulian Faction, an anti-Federation faction. They are positioned about one parsec from the Uctin system,” Bobdin explained.
“Excellent. If my sources are correct, the KSPS Castor is in orbit around Starbase IV, also known as Uctin I. I shall contact the starbase commander immediately,” Desdon said.
“But… What is this Uraninite?” Bobdin was confused.
“Uraninite can be refined into uranium. Undoubtedly the Reticulian Faction is seeking out this asteroid to build nuclear warheads to attack the Federation,” Desdon said, shuddering.
“We must stop them!” Bobdin exclaimed.
“I will request the admiral to contact the starbase commander to send out a scouting probe to V’Onak immediately,” Desdon said.

 

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Believe me, you do not want to know how much I hate this editing interface.

Spoiler

Calby had been called to the bridge a while ago. As Head Engineer of the KFPS Castor, he needed to meet the Starbase Commander, along with Admiral Donfrey Kerman.
“Don’t barf all over my bridge, mister!” The admiral had joked when Calby entered the bridge. The ship had just dropped out of hyperspace and was coming in for a docking with Alexandria Station. Just as suddenly, the forward docking port latched onto the station’s port-side docking arm, and the hatch was opened. Starbase Commander Calzon Kerman was already waiting for the two.
“Pleased to meet you, Admiral Donfrey Kerman. This is…?” Calzon evidently knew the admiral, but not Calby.
“Head Engineer Calby Kerman, sir,” Calby said.
“Please, call me Calzon,” the Commander said. “What brings you here, Admiral?”
“Well, ah, you tell him, Calby.” The admiral evidently did not understand what was wrong with the ship.
“Our artificial gravity compensator failed, Mr. Calzon,” Calby said.
“Ah,” Calzon mused. “You shall be here for a while, no?”
“Of course,” Donfrey said.
“There will be descent modules docked to the station, if your crew wishes to go planet-side for shore leave,” Calzon replied.
“Thank you very much, Commander,” Donfrey said, and went back to his ship.
But suddenly, alarms blared throughout Alexandria Station.
“Sir!” A kerbal called to Calzon. “We’ve intercepted a message from Federation Command.”
“Roger. Read it out, Geofry,” Calzon replied calmly.
“Ah, you’ll want to see it for yourself, sir,” Geofry maintained, a tinge of urgency in his voice.
Calzon rushed over to the message screen, and his eyes instantly widened.

Spoiler

To: Cmdr. Calzon Kerman, Starbase IV
To-Address: <[email protected]>
From: Adm. Scott Kerman, Federation Command
From-Address: <[email protected]>
Title: Urgent Situation
Security Level: Top Secret (5)

Commander Calzon Kerman of Starbase IV:
We have intercepted and decrypted a secret message originating from V’Onak, the lone planet in orbit around 9464 Reticuli, a red dwarf. V’Onak is home to the Reticulian Faction, an anti-Federation group. The message detailed the delivery of a Uraninite-rich asteroid to that planet. Undoubtedly the Reticulians are planning an attack against the Federation. It is unfortunate, but the Uctin system is within typical striking distance of a long-range nuclear missile.
On behalf of Federation Command, I would like to advise you to evacuate any and all personnel on the surface of Starbase IV, and retreat to a nearby star system or to Uctin VIII, the planet farthest from Uctin I.
As part of a scouting program, please send out an unarmed scouting probe to V’Onak. Its star’s precise coordinates are RA=23h 53m 29s, dec=25deg 05m 13s.
Thank you.
Admiral Scott Kerman, Federation Command

The commander practically screamed, “All personnel to evacuation craft! All personnel to evacuation craft! This is not a drill!”
Commander Calzon then turned to his visitors. “Admiral, I am afraid that you must evacuate the station immediately.
“But my ship! It is in need of repair,” Donfrey demanded.
“There is a ship at the Uctin VIII yard that is newer than yours and I will gladly give it to you for free,” Calzon negotiated.
“Very well. What do we do now?” Donfrey asked.
“Get you and your crew on an evacuation craft and get to Uctin VIII,” Calzon replied.
“Everybody move! Move!” Donfrey began to shout.
Calby stood there, dumbfounded. The admiral was about to abandon ship. Even though the Castor was a ship that broke down frequently, Calby still had some emotional attachment to it.
Fighting back tears, Calby made his way to the evacuation craft, and left the KFPS Castor forever.

Edited by TotallyNotHuman_
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Oh, a food item! :P My sleep-deprived brain thought you were referring to some other thing.

I've actually yet to try a Calzon er... calzone. :blush: But according to my colleagues they are "effing delicious" (exact quote trimmed because KSP Forums).

As for the name... I actually used the random Kerbal name generator for that. Not sure why it gave me a food item... :sticktongue:

According to (memory) of my (scrapped) worldbuilding Word doc (Wordbuilding?) Calzon actually had a decent childhood, because his mother made excellent synthmeat Calzons calzones, and that Calzon is actually a nickname that stuck to adulthood. 

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I do not look forward to posting chapters. The only reason: The %^&#*@^$ editing interface.

Oh, in other news: Today I've decided to drop 2 chapters at once. Enjoy.

Chapter 12:

Spoiler

“INCO, get me an ETA on the probe,” Captain Desdon Kerman barked. Following the report he made to Admiral Scott Kerman on the decrypted message, the admiral immediately granted Bobdin amnesty and promoted Desdon – twice.
“Sir, the probe is well on its way. ETA is one day and four hours,” the officer replied.
“Roger that,” Desdon said.
“Ah, sir? There’s an inbound voice call from Commander Calzon Kerman,” the communications officer said.
“Roger. Patch me through,” Desdon replied.
“Captain?” The strained voice of Calzon came through the speaker.
“Yes, commander. What is it?” Desdon asked.
“We saw the explosion from Uctin VIII,” the commander said, choking back tears. “N… New Alexandria is no more.”
The commander started bawling uncontrollably. Desdon stayed silent; what was there to say? Suddenly, Desdon heard a subdued snicker from one of his officers in the room.
Immediately, he drew his railgun pistol, pointed it straight at the officer’s head, and growled, “If I hear another sound come out of your mouth, ensign, you’ll get a fifty-gram railgun slug between your eyes. Understood?”
The officer nodded.
“Very well, Commander, let me reassure you; the Reticulians shall be destroyed, and New Alexandria’s destruction shall not be in vain. In the meantime, you should travel to Starbase III, on Kreeni II. It is only eight hours away at maximum speed,” Desdon continued.
“Thank you, sir. We shall make preparations for leaving immediately, on the KFPS Castor-A,” Calzon replied.
Castor-A?” Desdon’s brow furrowed. A letter appended to a ship’s name usually meant a refit.
“Yes, ah, during the emergency evacuation the crippled Castor was abandoned. We happened to have a ship at the Uctin VIII shipyard, and I made Admiral Donfrey commanding officer of that ship,” Calzon explained.
“I understand. See to it that it is entered into the registry, Commander. But concentrate on the preparations now,” Desdon said.
“Understood, Captain. Calzon out.” Calzon concluded.
Desdon said to the communications officer, “Tell the admiral that I intend to move the entire Vengeance fleet to V’Onak and destroy the Reticulians there.”
“Yes, sir,” said the communications officer.
Desdon grinned. The time had come for revenge.

Chapter 13:

Spoiler

Bobdin sat in a luxurious leather seat aboard the Frontier, still clad in the characteristic red-and-white of galactic criminals. He made a mental note to change into more suitable robes, perhaps once the shuttle landed. He couldn’t believe that he really had just been granted amnesty; on the other hand, he was glad not to be confined to cramped quarters aboard an otherwise spacious ship.
The shuttle’s engines powered up, a low rumbling as it slowed the ship down against Dres’ gravitational pull. The deceleration burn was timed perfectly, and the shuttle set its metallic foot on the shuttle landing pad, the engines kicking up dust from below.
As soon as the shuttle stopped all movement, a landing pad worker signaled to his coworkers to prepare the ship for unloading. Pad workers milled about, cleaning dust off of the landing pad, attaching refueling hoses to the Frontier, and attaching the crew transfer tube to the shuttle’s airlock. They secured the linkage, pressurized the tube, and gave the a-OK for unloading. 
“Passengers of the Frontier, we have landed on Dres. Please make your way through the crew transfer tube and into the spaceport. Thank you for choosing the Frontier for your non-atmospheric adventures,” the captain said.
Bobdin walked through the crew transfer tube, and arrived in the bustling Dres Commercial Spaceport. While smaller compared to its Laythe counterpart, and certainly less busier than that spaceport, the number of Kerbals milling around were certainly formidable for a spaceport of this size. Bobdin began to wonder if they were just tourists or if they actually resided on Dres; after all, he was a long-term resident of Dres and had a full time job there. But times change, and he was away on the SLS Superluminal and in the brig for almost eight months, so Dres certainly could have become a more popular tourist destination.
Bobdin had eyes for only one place; the Spaceport Clothes Shop. He practically teleported there and purchased a nice t-shirt and trousers. Ungentlemanly, yes, but anything was better than that red-and-white criminal uniform. He then made his way to the bathroom where he changed out of those damned robes and into his new outfit.
This done, he made his way to the exit airlock, grabbed a suit, and exited the airlock. Bobdin immediately hailed a taxi back to his apartment. A large quadruped taxi of sorts stepped forward and proclaimed loudly which company the taxi was from and what the fare would be.. Then, the taxi asked Bobdin for his destination. Bobdin was headed for Habitation Module #0932, and he said as much. The taxi’s doors swung open, and Bobdin climbed in.
In ten minutes, the taxi had arrived at Bobdin’s apartment. The taxi, after being paid the required fare, ejected Bobdin from the capsule and into the Dressian regolith. Dusting himself off, Bobdin climbed up to the fifth floor of the module, and entered the airlock. Once he had passed through the airlock, he threw off his spacesuit, changed into his nightclothes, and immediately slept a long and serene sleep.

 

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I hope nobody minds that this chapter has been posted an hour and a half late. :D

Spoiler

The last few days were a blur to Calby. In just a few days’ time, the Federation had lost an entire star system, colony, and patrol cruiser to the Reticulians.
The unnamed scouting probe had arrived at V’Onak the day prior. Immediately, it entered an extremely low orbit, barely skimming the planet’s atmosphere, and started recording and beaming back crucial video information before it was disabled by the Reticulians. It also activated onboard scanners to scan for resources on the planet. It beamed back two orbits’ worth of video data along with scanner data before it was shot down with an unknown weapon.
Analysis of the low-altitude reconnaissance film showed that the Reticulians possessed railgun technology; while not a large advantage, it put them approximately on-par with Federation technology. They had gas lasers, as far as laser tech went, which was 22nd century technology. The stolen asteroid, now depleted of its Uraninite, now orbited V’Onak, its only satellite. They also had multiple uranium storage facilities, many uranium refinement facilities, and hundreds of nuclear warhead production lines. Scanner data indicated that the planet was bone dry, the likes of which the scientists could not explain, which probably explained the need to pillage other asteroids and planets, and that the stolen asteroid had been completely excavated.
But this did not matter right now. What mattered was that the personnel of Starbase IV and the crew of the KFPS Castor survived, and was well furnished on Starbase III. The Starbase Commander, Aldmund Kerman, was extremely hospitable and was overjoyed to receive his new subjects. The surge of population from Starbase IV made Starbase III the largest starbase of the Kerbol Federation. Admiral Donfrey had been more than ecstatic to meet the Castor-A, his new ship, and he was so happy that as soon as they arrived at the Kreeni system and offloaded all personnel onboard, he took the ship on several intra-system joyrides, even one into the famed Kreeni Asteroid Belt. Against regulations, yes, but who could blame him? He had just lost his ship, a ship that had served him well, albeit with several hiccups, and he was simply reliving the feeling of commanding a patrol cruiser.
Since Commander Calzon did not have a Starbase to command, he was named second-in-command of Starbase III, and he would become Acting Commander if the current Commander, Aldmund, needed to leave the Starbase on official duty or was otherwise unable to command the Starbase.
Suddenly, an alarm went off in Kreeni Station. Calby knew what to expect; a PA announcement.
Right on cue, the PA system came online.
“All personnel in Kreeni Station, be advised: the Kerbol Federation has declared war on the Reticulian Faction. All Federation settlement members are required to board a cruiser and travel to 9464 Reticuli. All Federation Army soldiers must immediately report to gun stations aboard ships; non-enlisted officers and engineers may also man a gun station if possible.”
Calby rushed to the nearest gun station on the KFPS Castor-A, which was guarded by a frail-looking soldier.
“Out of the way, private,” Calby grunted.
“Who are you, sir? Gun stations are reserved for FA soldiers, NEOs, and engineers only,” the soldier shot back.
“I am Calby Kerman, Head Engineer of the KFPS Castor-A. Now get out of the way before I make mincemeat out of you,” Calby growled.
The soldier immediately wilted, and ran off in another direction as fast as his legs could carry him. Calby engaged the lasers and the railguns immediately, as the ship undocked from Kreeni Station and sped off into hyperspace.
“Right,” Calby grinned devilishly, “let’s see what you Reticulian scum have to offer.”

Tommorow's post will conclude this story. Fear not, a sequel is coming (soonTM).

Edited by TotallyNotHuman_
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The story concludes here. Thank you, readers, however few there may be.

I would like to thank especially @0111narwhalz for all the things he's helped me with. Thank you again.

Chapter 15:

Spoiler

Desdon prepared for his egress. He was fully aware that this might be his last egress, this encounter with the Reticulians’ dictator.
He retrieved his Haven EVA suit, an old friend, and suited up. He placed his railgun pistol into his shoulder holster, and procured a picture of Trixie Kerman, his love, as a memento.
He placed the picture into his utility pouch, and said his farewells. But he said a very special farewell to one kerbal in particular.
“Ensign…” Desdon started, not remembering the officer’s name.
“Name’s Camfrey, cap,” the ensign replied.
“Very well, Ensign Camfrey. I hereby formally relinquish command of this ship, the KFBS (Kerbol Federation Battle Ship) Vengeance, and this entire fleet, to you,” Desdon said, a tear rolling down his cheek.
“Yes, sir,” Camfrey replied.
“If I do not return within fifteen minutes, open fire on the Reticulians at will,” Desdon said.
“Yes, sir,” Camfrey answered.
“Farewell, Acting Commander,” Desdon finished. 
Desdon put on his helmet and made his way to the airlock. He entered, depressurized it, and stepped out.
“Who goes there?” A voice came through on the ansible channel. “This is the headquarters of the Reticulian Faction. What business have you here?”
“I am Captain Desdon Kerman of the Kerbol Federation. You have destroyed a member system of our Federation, the Uctin system, and we come here to destroy you,” Desdon said.
“You? Destroy us? Impossible!” The commander of the Reticulians stepped out and leveled his railgun pistol. He squeezed the trigger.
Desdon heard a whir as the enemy’s railgun accelerator coils spun up. He was about to take aim and shoot his adversary, when a thing slammed into his right arm. Desdon knew instantly he’d been hit, by a fifty-gram railgun slug no less. He grunted in pain and let go of his railgun pistol.
“Suit breach detected,” the Haven suit’s AI said. “Pressure is dropping.”
Ignoring the excruciating pain in his right arm, Desdon used the left arm to retrieve his railgun pistol, holster it, and then cover his right arm as he tried to make his way back to the airlock. He had to be quick or else he would risk getting shot again.
“Suit pressure stable at point six five atmospheres. Backfilling from emergency N2 and O2 tanks.”
Desdon glanced at his right arm. Blood had gushed from the wound and escaped into the void, with the air. But some blood had clung onto the hole in his suit, and scabbed up. Desdon didn’t believe that a scab would hold back an atmosphere of pressure, but he didn’t mind. He had more important things to attend to.
Wasting no time, Desdon wrenched open the airlock with his good arm, closed the outer door, and pressurized it. Removing his helmet, he practically fell onto the bridge platform.
“Fire at will, commander,” Desdon croaked, barely audible, and then fell unconscious.
“All stations, fire at will! Medic, report to bridge immediately!” Now Acting Commander, Camfrey began screaming at various officers.
The entire fleet began to fire on the Reticulians’ ships. The ships at the forefront of the front line went first, the two-pound railgun projectile annihilating the smaller ships, and tearing larger ships apart by breaching their hull. The lasers concentrated on the ships, burning a hole through their hulls, and then the Reticulian officers aboard were vented out to meet an ignoble end as they exploded in the vacuum.
“Ugh,” exclaimed the commander, as body parts and blood of the late Reticulian officers were sent flying in every direction.
The medical officer rushed into the bridge, took one look at Desdon, and understood everything. Feeling for a heartbeat, he proclaimed that the officer was indeed alive, but he had fainted due to the pain and shock. Reaching for his scalpel, he examined the wound. It was not mortal, and the medic reached in and removed the railgun slug from the wound with his scalpel.
“Argh!” Desdon cried out in agony. “What in heaven’s name happened here, officer?”
“I just got the railgun slug out of your wound, sir,” the medical officer replied. “Now if you’d kindly hold still, I’ll apply a bandage on your wound.”
“Ah, I apologize, officer,” Desdon said.
“No worries. Hold still…” The medical officer replied.
Desdon grimaced in pain as the medical officer bandaged his wound up.
“Now, sir, you’d better retire to your quarters. Doctor’s orders,” the medical officer said.
“Very well. I shall retire to my quarters. Acting Commander, you have the bridge,” Desdon said.
“I have the bridge, sir,” Camfrey said.
Desdon trudged off the bridge.
“Sir, we’re detecting an incoming warhead. Sensors indicate a high concentration of weapon-grade uranium,” an officer said.
“Range?” Camfrey barked.
“Range is twelve klicks and closing rapidly, sir,” the officer said.
“All shields up!” Camfrey yelled.
“Shields up, sir,” an officer piped up. “All other ships in fleet report same.”
The nuclear warhead, its sole booster blazing, impacted the Vengeance. The shield deflected it and it reversed course – back to where it was launched. The warhead happily detonated after impacting its own mothership. It was quite an explosion.
“Science officer, report! I want values on the Geiger sensor. Now!” Camfrey barked.
“The counter’s clicking like no man’s business, sir. Instrument panels indicate a thousand counts per second,” the science officer said.
“Open hailing channel, communications,” Camfrey bellowed.
“Hailing frequencies open, sir,” the communications officer said.
“This is Acting Commander Camfrey of the Kerbol Federation Vacuum Navy. If you wish to unconditionally surrender, all Reticulian soldiers shall be exiled to 4690 Phalguni, a binary system with three planets, and all females and children will be granted amnesty and be transferred to a Federation starbase. Should you decline, this battle shall end with the complete destruction of V’Onak. Please consider those terms carefully.”
The Acting Commander, at that time, was not bluffing. He had full support from Admiral Scott Kerman and the rest of Federation Command, and he had the technology to destroy this entire planet.
For on the KFBS Vengeance, there was a fusion-powered inertial confinement fusion laser. This laser ran on just a few milligrams of deuterium and tritium, and the subsequent reaction would release one quadrillion joules in laser form for one second, scorching the planet’s atmosphere and cooking any and all living beings on the planet.
“We will not surrender. If our planet shall be destroyed, so be it. It just goes to show that the Federation is nothing but a group of tyrants,” the dictator spat.
“You heard the dictator. Helm, navigator; insert your laser ignition keys,” Camfrey boomed.
The helmsman and navigator inserted their ignition key, and turned it clockwise ninety degrees. Two lights lit up on the commander’s laser panel, indicating the two stations’ readiness. The commander inserted his own key and turned it. The third light lit up, and the plastic cover disengaged.
“Engineering, do we have target lock?” The commander asked.
“Target is locked, sir,” the head engineer said.
“ICF fusion reactor status?” The commander inquired.
“Reactor at standby, sir,” the head engineer replied.
“Very well,” the commander answered.
The commander stared at the panel. The plastic cover was up. The planet’s fate lay in the red button, smack-dab in the center of the panel. Every atom of his being screamed for him to activate the laser. But on the contrary, his morality, the way he had been brought up as a little kerbling, begged him not to press the button.
“Forgive me,” the commander whispered, and slammed his fist down on the button.
A series of electronic pulses raced through the circuitry of the ship. One such pulse engaged the fusion reactor, the other started the laser, and another opened the laser hatch.
The laser hatch opened, and the laser, now extended, roared to life, and then fired, pounding a petajoule of energy into the planet for a split second.
For but a single moment, the planet V’Onak shone as bright as the star it orbited. The commander instantly felt a pang of remorse, almost as if he could hear the denizens of the planet wail in despair as their lives were extinguished. The atmosphere shriveled up and died, as every cubic meter of the air ignited, engulfing the planet in the worst firestorm anyone had ever seen. The flames had scorched the ground of the planet, charring every square kilometer of the planet’s regolith, turning them into seared, lifeless stone.
The Reticulians were no more.
The commander immediately ordered his ships to halt all fire, took one last regretful look at the mangled pieces of debris, and gave the command to enter hyperspace and make their way back to Starbase III.
Camfrey did not want to be lauded as a hero. Destroying an entire planet or an entire species was nothing to be commended for. But, it seemed that the parades and celebrations would go on anyway.

Epilogue:

Spoiler

Camfrey laid back on his couch, in his beach home on Laythe.
It had been ten years. Ten years since he had singlehandedly destroyed an entire planet. Ten years since his promotion and subsequent resignation. Ten years since the Great War.
Camfrey tried his best to ease the guilt. But the guilt had left a welt on his heart, unable to be mended. He donated to charity. He helped out, as a volunteer. But every time he gazed at his Rear Admiral’s uniform, the decorations and the Medal of Honor and the two silver stars winking back at him, the guilt returned instantly.
His telephone rang. Camfrey trudged over to his table. Undoubtedly, he thought to himself, this would be from the many fans of the officer who destroyed an entire planet.
“Camfrey here,” he sighed.
“Rear Admiral. I need you to get to Federation HQ immediately.” The voice was gruff and it belonged to Vice Admiral Desdon Kerman.
“Must I remind you, Vice Admiral,” Camfrey said, “that I am retired?”
“That does not matter. There has been an emergency. So get your green behind to Federation HQ, or I will come down to Laythe and drag you there,” Desdon barked, and slammed down the phone.
Camfrey replaced the handset on the telephone, and gazed at his Rear Admiral uniform.
“Looks like you and I shall fight together another day,” Camfrey grinned.
It seemed as if the uniform grinned back at his owner as Camfrey changed into it.

 

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