Pearl of the Stars | Far From Home
Tough Justice

Eight months had passed since the entire fleet engaged their Faster-Than-Light drives in-system. The resulting supernova had killed millions, and sent the fleet who knew how many millions of light years into unknown territory.

The star system in which they’d arrived housed a Red Dwarf, designated Remigro, and two habitable planets.

Six hundred thousand sailors had made the journey into unknown territory, six hundred thousand survivors of a particularly brutal battle, and all resided in camps scattered across the single continent of the second planet from the Remigro star, or on board those ships that had made the journey.

The Pearl of the Stars occupied a low orbit around Remigro IV. The surface of the planet was mostly limestone canyons, granite mountains, and sulphur-rich swampland.

Two miles below, the Pearls squadron of fighters were on manoeuvres.

Captain Grace Ifhans watched their progress on the feed. She couldn’t actually see the fighters themselves, as the Pearls bow-mounted camera was not powerful enough, but she could see them on radar, and for one with Grace’s experience, that was enough.

“They look good in atmo, Ma’am,” one of the Lieutenants said, conversationally. There were many such people on the bridge, both men and women of varying ages. In times of war, such conversation was not allowed, but there was no war, not any more. Not so far from home, anyway.

“They do,” replied Grace, happily. Even though she currently had no enemy to fight, that did not mean there was no enemy, and it paid to ensure everyone was at the top of their game. “Put me through to the Deck Chief.”

“Aye Ma’am,” the Lieutenant replied. “Putting you through now.”

“Chief,” said Grace. There was no need for a receiver of any kind, as the Pearls communication system was wireless, and ship wide. “Run battle simulation Bravo One.”

“Aye, Ma’am,” the Deck Chief replied. He was middle-aged, with a thick crop of unruly hair. Once upon a time he was a fighter pilot, back before he lost his left eye. “Bravo One.”

Battle simulation Bravo One, required all those fighters involved to reach an altitude of almost two miles. They would then free fall, still in complete control, as the Pearl dropped random pockets of covering fire. From the ground, holographic targets would rush up to meet the fighters, and ground-to-air missiles would make their task even more difficult.

Of course, it was only a simulation, and there was no danger posed by the holographic targets, nor from the ground-to-air missile arrays. In fact, the only real danger was pilot error, a rare occurrence, but not unheard of.

“Jump point Echo activated, Ma’am,” another Lieutenant informed her. “It’s the Rising Sun.”

“On screen please, Lieutenant.”

“Aye Ma’am.” His fingers danced across his console. “On screen.”

“Captain Karavel,” said Grace, saluting her subordinate, whom she respected more than most.

“Captain Ifhans,” Captain Karavel replied, diligently returning the salute.

“What news, Senna?” asked Grace with a smile, casting aside the formalities. The Rising Sun had been gone for a day shy of a month. A scouting mission for sentient life.

“We covered a lot of ground quickly, Grace,” Senna Karavel replied, also grateful that airs and graces were not essential. “Three systems out, then we circled the perimeter, using Remigro as a reference point.” She paused, and sighed rather heavily. “There’s nothing out there, Grace. No life, three habitable worlds at most, but not a familiar star in sight.”

“Unfortunate, but not unexpected,” Grace replied.

“The Deck Chief for you, Ma’am.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant,” said Grace, and then, to Senna, “bring her home, Captain.”

“Aye Ma’am,” Senna Karavel replied, saluting once more, before her image vanished from the screen.

“Chief,” Grace said, as the man’s image immediately appeared upon her screen. “How goes the simulation?”

“Fine and dandy, Ma’am,” he replied. “Some bloody strange atmospheric interference, but nothing my planes couldn’t handle.”

“I’d expect nothing less, Chief,” she said with a smile. It wasn’t the first time the Fleet had encountered interference. In fact, it was happening more regularly of late. There didn’t appear to be any rhyme or reason to it, no pattern. Such atmospheric interference showed up any time, around any given planet. Thus far, no irreparable damage had been caused, but it was only a matter of time.

“Send the flight data to the Techs, Chief,” she ordered, after a little deliberation. “If nothing else, it’ll serve to keep them busy a while.”

“Aye Ma’am,” he replied with a salute, as Grace terminated the transmission.

“Lieutenant,” she said, turning. “I’m going to take a walk. Please hold my...”

“Captain Holding for you, Ma’am,” said another Lieutenant, sheepishly, doing her best not to meet her Captain’s eyes.

“Fine, put him through,” Grace replied with a sigh. Captain Frank Holding was currently at the base camp, on the surface of Remigro III, so she wasn’t surprised by background noises different to those that would exist upon a ship broadcast. “Frank.”

“Captain,” he replied, a half-hearted salute as accompaniment. “Got a spot of bother down here. Fickling Others are trying to stage a fickling coup.”

Again, Grace sighed, and her shoulders sagged. When the Fleet had engaged their FTL drives in-system, the cause for their current predicament, several Others vessels had been with them. For countless generations, The Council, and the League of Otherworlds, had fought for supremacy. Then a new, powerful enemy, had made themselves known, and it had been a necessity for the Council to join forces with the Others, lest both factions of humanity be destroyed.

Since their arrival in the Remigro star system though, that tentative union had wavered on many an occasion, and short of killing those once considered allies, albeit briefly, Grace hadn’t a clue how to handle them. Until now, that is. A coup. That was mutiny. Grace knew how to deal with that.

“I’ll be down in,” she glanced at the time-stamp on the video feed, “twenty, Frank. Think you can hold steady ’til then?”

“Aye aye, Captain,” he replied with a chuckle, and terminated the transmission himself. That was just like Frank Holding. To joke, even when things were ficked up.

“Take the helm, Mr Foster,” said Grace, directing the comment at one of her many subordinates. “Ms Johnson. With me.”

“Aye Ma’am,” replied both Foster and Johnson, issuing smart salutes before undertaking their newly assigned duties.

“You’re to shuttle me down to the planet, Emily,” said Grace, as she and Emily Johnson strode down the corridor that led away from the bridge.

“Is there a problem, Ma’am?”

“A coup, by all accounts. I intend to put a swift end to that bullfick as quickly as possible.”

“The Others?”

“Who else?” Grace grunted in reply. She hated to admit it, and probably would not do so out loud, but she’d made a mistake in forming an alliance with the Others. There’d been little choice though. At the time, she’d thought that to be their only chance of survival.

As the two women marched around a corner, the Pearl lurched violently and unexpectedly to starboard.

“What the fick?” Grace yelled, grasping a bulkhead in order to keep herself upright. Her outstretched hand caught Emily Johnson’s arm, thus preventing the best pilot in the Fleet from knocking herself unconscious on the opposite bulkhead. “Report.”

“Coms must be down, Ma’am,” Johnson said, after a few seconds, during which time the corridor lights went out. “Electrics, too.”

“Back to the bridge,” said Grace. She and Johnson broke into a run, and soon reached their destination. They weren’t alone in doing so. Several other personnel had the exact same thought.

“Status report,” Grace barked, as soon as she arrived upon the bridge. “Now, damn it!”

“The jump drive is primed, Ma’am,” a Lieutenant replied.

“Coms are down,” added another.

“Engines are off line,” said a third. “It’s just the jump drive.” Since their arrival in the Remigro star system, the terms ′jump drive,′ and ′jump space,′ had been adopted, and were used widely when referring to Faster-Than-Light travel.

“What the fick is going on?” Grace demanded. “What happens if the jump drive engages whilst our engines are off line? Anyone?”

“I’d guess that once the drive activates, it’ll rip a hole straight through the Pearls hull,” said Emily, as she resumed her station at the helm.

“Fick!” Grace yelled. “Mr Foster, get your arse to the engine room and give them the mother of all hurry ups. Mr Holden, get my fickling coms back on line.”

Once again, the Pearl of the Stars shook and veered, this time to port.

“System registers a hull breach, Ma’am.”

“Seal off affected areas,” replied Grace.

“We’re dropping, Ma’am,” shouted Johnson, from the helm. “We’re losing altitude, fast.”

“Inertial dampeners are off line, Ma’am. It’s going to get very fickling bumpy.”

“We’re gaining speed.”

“Johnson!” Grace yelled over the various alarms and sirens that shrilled out. “Are you able?”

“Aye Ma’am,” the pilot replied, audibly straining. “Piece of fickling cake.”

“If we keep up this acceleration, it might jump-start the engines,” said Holden.

“Might?” said Grace. “I don’t need mights, Holden. I need my fickling coms.”

“Aye Ma’am, sorry Ma’am,” he replied, returning to his task.

“Twenty-thousand feet!” Johnson yelled. “I can’t slow us down.”

“Holden!”

“Coms are go, Ma’am.”

“Engine room!”

“Aye Ma’am, engine room.”

“Get my fickling engines on line!” she barked, without waiting for acknowledgement of a connection. There really wasn’t time for such trivialities.

“They’re not firing, Ma’am. Nothing,” replied Foster.

“Reroute all available power,” said Grace. “Life support, gravity simulation, shields, weapons. Every-fickling-thing.”

“Aye Ma’am, on it.”

“Impact in ten.”

Fick me, Grace thought. This is going to be close.

In his quarters, Edward Smith smiled, counting down from ten. It hadn’t been easy to sabotage the Pearl without being noticed, but he’d done so. He’d set the vessel’s jump drive to activate, and removed one or two vital components from the engines.

He didn’t know exactly what would happen when the Pearl, less her engines, attempted to jump without moving, but he did know it would destroy the ship, killing those on board.

Edward Smith was an Other, a spy planted by his superiors who were none-too-happy with the way those Council officers present were running things in the Remigro star system.

He reached zero, and held his breath.

Nothing.

He was still alive and the Pearl of the Stars was still intact. Not only that, but unless he was very much mistaken, the vessel had successfully entered Jump Space.

Fick.

Now, Edward knew what would happen to him, once it was discovered that it was he who’d sabotaged the vessel, just as he knew it would not be long before Captain Ifhans came knocking upon his cabin door.

He’d not expected the vessel to survive, and thus, had not been careful whilst committing mutiny. A quick systems check would show anyone who knew what they were looking for, that it was his access code and his retinal scan that had gained entrance to the jump drive.

Edward stood, and took a pistol from the drawer beside his bunk.

Holding the pistol in his left hand, he put the barrel to his temple. He saluted his reflection in the mirror, and pulled the trigger.

“Situation report,” said Grace, as she breathed a sigh of relief. She was not entirely sure how, but she and her crew were alive, and the Pearl was intact.

“We’re in jump space, Ma’am,” Holden replied. “Destination unknown.”

“At this point, Mr Holden, it matters none where we’re headed.” It was the truth, and she knew it. “Put me ship wide.”

“Aye Ma’am, ship wide.”

“Ladies and Gentlemen. By some miracle, we are still alive, and are currently traversing Jump Space. I suggest that those of you who are in any way religious, pray to your deity of choice and thank them. The rest of you, take a few hours off. Recharge your batteries. We’ve no idea where we’re going to end up but we’re going to be in Jump Space for...”

“Seventy-two hours, Ma’am.”

“...seventy-two hours,” Grace continued. “I want everyone at their best, ready for any eventuality.” She cut the transmission, and turned to Holden. “The Deck Chief please, Mr Holden.”

“Deck Chief, aye Ma’am.”

“Chief.”

“Ma’am,” he replied. He certainly was not his usual chirpy self, but then that was hardly surprising.

“Please tell me at least some planes made it back to your deck.”

“Aye Ma’am,” he replied. “Twelve.”

A third of the Pearl’s fighter consignment. Better than it could have been.

“When you’ve completed your debriefing, I want a team of combat engineers at the hull breach.”

“Aye Ma’am, consider it done.”

“System shows a weapon was discharged Ma’am,” said Foster. “A short while after we entered Jump Space.”

“Where, Mr Foster?” she asked, returning the Chief’s salute, and terminating that transmission.

“The quarters of one Edward Smith,” replied Foster. “A low level tech.”

“I leave that in your capable hands, Mr Foster. See that it is dealt with and should Mr Smith still be alive, see that he is reprimanded.”

“Aye Ma’am,” said Foster, with a salute.

“Mr Holden, are we able to transmit back to Remigro?”

“A short data burst,” replied Holden, before adding, “possibly.”

“If it can be done, then do so,” ordered Grace. “Frank Holding is to take command. Tell him to kill those fickling Others scum and if he is able, to follow our trail with the remainder of the Fleet. You are authorised to use my signature on my behalf.”

“Aye Ma’am.”

Captain Senna Karavel let out a breath she had not realised she’d been holding, as rather than impact with Remigro III, the Pearl of the Stars entered Jump Space.

She’d no idea where the vessel was going, but she and her crew had survived.

She had her techs comb through every available ounce of data, in an attempt to work out the Pearl’s likely trajectory, but as they informed her, jumping in-system could result in the Fleet’s flagship ending up anywhere.

It was not until several hours later, when the Rising Sun picked up a weak transmission, that she realised there was hope of replaceing the Pearl and with it, her superior Captain and friend, Grace Ifhans.

She took a shuttle down to the surface, and landed at what served as the base camp’s landing strip, nothing more than a patch of flattened earth. Ten small hangars lined the strip, and a tall building of corrugated metal, that served as air traffic control.

As she alighted, she saw Captain Frank Holding and three other officers, with their weapons trained upon a huddle of two thousand or so people, the Others, and she smiled. They appeared genuinely fearful for their lives, and rightly so, as far as she was concerned.

“Captain,” she said, saluting.

“Captain,” Holding returned her salute.

“I trust you have been made aware of the situation.”

“Aye, fickling saboteur scum,” he replied, almost spitting the words.

“The Pearl managed to send a short data burst whilst in Jump Space,” Senna continued. “You are to take command of the Fleet and once these bastards have got what they deserve, we are to follow the Pearl, using the transmission as a guide.”

“It’s about fickling time,” he replied, smiling broadly. “Give us a sec.”

He turned from Senna, and nodded to those other officers around him. Without a word, they all fired their automatic weapons and did not stop until the Others were dead.

“Tough fickling justice,” he said. “Right. All hands to your respective commands. Get a fickling shake on.”

As Senna returned to the Rising Sun, she smiled. Frank Holding was old school, a Captain born of blood and battle, quite literally she’d heard. Captain Ifhans could not have selected a more suitable Commander.