Helios: 04 - I - Is This Who We Spoke About
http://spacewallpapers.org/wallpaper/two-cold-planets-and-ice-debris
Author's Note
Originally chapters involving this character were written in third-person as in the rest of the book; however, this was changed when a later chapter involving this character was switched to first-person. The reason for the change was an attempt to place the reader into the mind of the character and experience the character's emotions in that chapter.
CRDJEAF SMEWS/SAMCN Outpost Raegib
L4 Point, Kolbeci, Ejenworb
1137 VST, February 11, 2481
The Class I planet Kolbeci reflected the light of its parent star Ejenworb off its white frozen surface, tinting the black interior of the control level of the Raegib with a soft bluish-white light. The Raegib was a newly commissioned Taroom class orbital node designed to receive data from remote sensors located on the edge of the Stagecoach sector of the Empire, and transmit it to Spacecraft and Missile Early Warning System networks located deeper in Empire space. In addition to its role as a data concentrator, the Raegib also served as the command center for both the Spacecraft and Missile Early Warning System and Strategic Automated Military Command Networks located within the Stagecoach sector.
I sat at my console looking at several screens displaying current radar data from scans near the edge of the sector. Small icons, each one representing a single contact, dotted the screens between various planets and star systems. The arrangement of contacts around trade routes made the screen look as if it were displaying a scan of blood slowly flowing through veins. There were a few icons that littered space between routes, but only a handful. Each was colored according to its alignment with the Empire; blue for neutral, green for friendly, yellow for unknown, and red for hostile. Colors also varied depending on how close to one of the classifications a contact was.
At the sector’s border with the Colmar Federation, a small upstart nation, most traffic was either blue or yellow. Although the Colmar Federation controlled only a few dozen star systems, it presented a possible threat to the sector because of its political alignment and the fact that the Stagecoach was both a frontier sector and borderland. Frontier sectors had relatively few Federal space groups patrolling them, with most border security provided by local governments, noble houses, or other entities such as corporations.
As I lifted my raspberry flavored tea to take a sip, the incursion alarm of one of the displays sounded, its high-low beeping loud enough to draw attention from only those within a several yard radius. I reached up and tapped the screen, silencing the alarm and bringing up a radar sweep of the area where the incursion was taking place. The yellow icon indicated the contact was a large jumpcraft of unknown alignment, at least as far as the mainframes filtering the radar data could determine.
“Traffic scheduling, radar five, unknown contact inbound from Colmar. Coordinates 03.84.21, 10.51.99, and 02.35.00. Mainframe says a large jumpcraft, no name or registration number. No trailers yet. Confirm no scheduled inbounds”, I said into my headset.
I had always been told that I spoke with a heavy Norwegian accent, even though I didn’t speak the language. Danish, ironically a language sounding like a drunken Swede to those of Norwegian descent, was the closest thing to Norwegian that I spoke. Even so, my native tongue was Imperial American; a hodgepodge of American English, German, Danish, Hebrew, Spanish and several other languages.
I was born in the Aesir Sector on the planet Valhalla. The majority of Aesir’s population was composed of people of Scandinavian descent. My home planet was also home to the primary residence, palace, and estate of the current Kaiserreich, or emperor. Most of the others on the Raegib were also from the Aesir Sector and spoke with the same accent as I.
On the left shoulder of my black spacejumper was the military shield of the Aesir Sector; blue lightning bolts drawn over a silver Mjollnir, set on a blue background. The shield symbolized an ancient god of Norse mythology, Thor, and his powers over the sky. It was no coincidence that the majority of space groups within the Empire were commanded and crewed by individuals from the Aesir Sector. After all it seemed a natural progression from the 20th Century, a time when Scandinavians were often involved in commercial shipping.
“Standby radar five, checking now”, scheduling responded after a brief pause.
Incursions along the outer edges of borderlands were common, this was the fourth time today some contact had wandered into space I was responsible for monitoring. Even with the high-tech navigation systems and digital maps on jumpcraft, navigating borderlands was risky business. Smaller factions, pirate groups, and others made the problem worse because their navigation databases were often less accurate.
Jumpcraft themselves were large machines, often several miles in length, but surprisingly agile under the control of a competent crew. They were most oft used as interstellar ferries for dropcraft; small spacecraft weighing less than 100,000 tons.
Moments later scheduling responded, “radar five, no scheduled inbounds for specified coordinates.”
“Roger scheduling.”
I reached up to the display and tapped the yellow icon for the unknown jumpcraft, then tapped the “hail” icon from the pop-up menu. I addressed the jumpcraft, read off its coordinates then requested a response. Waiting about 20 seconds for the response, I hailed the jumpcraft again and received nothing but silence.
“Last chance,” I mumbled to myself before trying to hail the craft a third time.
I looked at the clock on my console. Almost two minutes passed since I first tried to contact the jumpcraft.
“Combat control, radar five, I have an unknown inbound jumpcraft from Colmar”, I said pressing several more menus on the display, “sending you contact’s info now.”
“Roger radar five, we have the info and control.”
As I handed the contact over to combat control, a blue X was placed over its icon and its status changed to read “CBCT”. I paused for a moment, trying to remember what I was doing before the incursion alarm. Unable to remember, I gave each of my displays another look then picked up my tea and took a sip.
I peered through the semi-transparent displays, over dozens of other consoles, and out of the enormous windows to look at the white planet below. Kolbeci was a Class I planet, meaning it was composed mainly of ice. Its surface was scarred by a network of cracks, each of which was thousands of miles long and could be up to several miles deep.
There was an extremely brief time in my preteen years when I wanted to be a planetologist. However, I ended up as a sensor operator-controller, also known as a scope dope, in the Republic Air Force. My first assignment was in the Aesir Sector working in a ground-based SMEWS radar facility and progressing to an airborne then spaceborne unit. Recently assigned to the Raegib, I hadn’t yet bothered to read about Kolbeci or any of its moons.
Pulling up Kolbeci’s data files, I looked over the planet’s vital statistics. Almost 35,000 miles in diameter, two large and five small moons, and composed of mostly deuterium locked in water and ammonia ices. Deuterium fueled the multitudes of fusion reactors used in everything from large construction machinery to massive space stations. Although the element was common in space, it was rare to find it in concentrations high enough to make recovering it economical. Ammonia was a fuel used in many spacecraft around the galaxy, but was usually manufactured in areas where it was not readily available from natural sources. Water was always a valuable commodity, even though most places humans settled were relatively earth-like with an adequate supply of it.
“A giant ball of money”, I said to myself as I read the stats.
There were a number of mines on the planet, extracting the frozen water and ammonia, and refining them into various compounds to be shipped off-planet. Kolbeci also had several small Army and Air Force installations, but nothing much to speak of.
I was reading about one of the larger moons when I was interrupted by combat control, “Radar five, combat control. Your unknown inbound had radio problems, he’s headed back out of the sector as soon as his core charges.”
“Roger combat, I have control of contact”, I responded.
The X over the contact’s icon disappeared as soon as combat control surrendered the jumpcraft. I reached up to the display and put the contact on my monitor list so the mainframe would inform me of any major changes in the jumpcraft’s status.
“Two hours into shift and already four strays,” I muttered, “it’s going to be a long day.”
- - -
My magneboots thudded dully on the black corridor floor as I walked. I had been ordered to report to the node's commander once my shift was completed. I knew why the commander requested my presence by the time I arrived at the door to his office. Knocking on the door, I opened it after a voice from the other side told me to enter.
"You requested my presence Scharmeister," I questioned as I stood at parade rest in front of the commander's desk.
The commander, Scharmeister Anders Storstrand, was a large man with chiseled features and a flattop hair style. A scar ran from above his right eyebrow, down through his eye and cheek, and ended just above his chin. I could tell his right eye had been severely damaged, possibly even lost, due to whatever left the scar on his face. In its place was a bioelectric eye that could pass as his natural one.
The commander pushed a paper across his desk towards me, "Hauptmann Kirstin Thorsdottir. Yes, you've got orders," he paused momentarily," and quite frankly I can't wait to get you off my station."
I glanced at him with the best look of confusion I could muster as I picked up the paper.
"I don't know where you really came from or where you're really going, but I know what you are and what you've been up to while on my station," he continued.
I looked up from the paper, "I'm from the Republic Air Force Scharmeister. I always have been, since the day I joined."
"No, you know exactly what I mean, you never even enlisted," he said as his eyes narrowed.
Realizing arguing about the subject was pointless, I placed the paper back on his desk, "Am I dismissed," I paused, "Scharmeister."
After waiting almost a minute for a response from Anders, I excused myself and left his office. As I made my way back to my room I went over everything I had done while on the Raegib during the past year. I was sure that I hadn't done anything to clue anyone in on my real purpose for being on the station.
A new message indicator flashed in my field-of-view. I imagined reaching out and touching the indicator but didn't let my arm or fingers move to do so.
The message opened and I read it as I walked. It was from my home agency and informed me that a dropcraft would be arriving in 12 hours to pick me up. This was a much faster departure than the orders I had read in Anders’ office. According to those I would be leaving in just over a month.
I stopped in front of my door and glanced down the corridor both directions as I reached for the door handle. The door’s internal bolt retracted with a clunk when my hand made contact with the handle. The room’s bright white lights switched on as I entered and tossed my dome helmet on the bed.
Sitting down at my desk just under the room’s only window, I composed a message and sent it off to my home agency. Normally I would use my palmtop computer, but this message necessitated the use of my internal computer for secrecy. I informed the agency of Anders’ suspicions and that I would be handling the problem myself once the dropcraft arrived to pick me up. I also sent a brief request detailing a very special item I would need to ensure the issue was completely remedied. With just under 12 hours to tidy any loose ends up, I quickly got to work doing so.
- - -
Another message indicator flashed in my view an hour before the dropcraft was due to arrive, informing me that the craft had entered the Eyenworb system. I responded with a brief about my plans to handle the problem with Anders.
The dropcraft arrived earlier than expected. I was just completeing a complete wipe of the desktop computer in my room when I heard a knock at the door.
“Enter,” I said while reclining facing the window with my boots on the desk and hands crossed on my abdomen.
Two men wearing flat black spacejumpers identical to the one I now wore entered followed by a woman wearing one identical to what I had worn during my time on the Raegib.
The taller man spoke as the door closed and I turned around and stood, “I see you’re back to your normal self, Reichsgräfin Synnove Rupertsen.”
“I am,” I responded walking over to the woman.
The man was my uncle Reichsgräf Ulrich Odinwald, a physiologist and aerospace surgeon. The shorter man, Reichsritter Farag Rais, was a very experienced dropcraft pilot and commander.
“Is this who we spoke about?” I asked then looked at the woman with a friendly smile.
“Yes Reichsgräfin. I am Hauptmann Kirstin Thorsdottir. It is an honor to meet you,” the woman said, “but I’m just a little confused.”
The woman looked exactly like I had until several hours ago, even down to her mannerisms and tone.
“Don’t let that worry you,” Ulrich responded as I turned and walked to the vanity area, “this will be your room during your assignment here on Raegib.”
Farag approached me while Ulrich gently corralled the woman towards the desk, “Sit and enjoy the view. Relax, doctor’s orders.”
She reluctantly sat and Ulrich glanced at me from the corner of his eye. Farag handed me a laser pistol from the small black utility bag he carried in his left hand, and sat the bag on the vanity.
I picked up the pistol and brought it in-line with the woman’s head and pulled the trigger. A bright violet laser flashed from the weapon, killing the woman instantly and cleanly, leaving a small spot of melted metal on the opposite wall.
“Not often that you get to commit suicide,” I said as I tossed Ulrich the pistol and gathered the other items from the utility bag.
“Nope,” Ulrich responded, tossing the pistol onto the floor next to the lifeless woman, “Let’s get going.”
I took my pistol from the bag, looking at it momentarily before holstering it. The weapon was larger than most pistols and was also of a large calibur.
We casually left the room and proceeded to the waiting dropcraft. Few people paid any attention to us as we walked, and that was exactly how we preferred it. Although we were recognized by several people, none of them made a terribly big deal of it. It wasn’t uncommon for nobility to make unannounced appearances on military spacecraft and leave as quietly as they appeared.
It had been a year, give or take a few months, since I had last seen my dropcraft, the Dragonfly. I smiled as we walked into the hangar where it waited, its flat black and well-kept aerofoil shape consuming almost the entire hangar.
There were few markings on the craft, and what it did have were applied in a flat gray so dark they could barely be distinguished from the surrounding black. Painted on the vertical stabilizer was the saltire raguly of the Bandera Imperial which symbolized a noble currently under federal service. Near the nose of the craft, the military seal of the Aesir Sector was painted just forward of my family’s arms.
My family's arms consisted of a sable lion rampant set on a field of azure with twelve billets argent. However, because the arms on the dropcraft were painted in monochrome the name of my family's house was written under the arms to avoid mistaking them for arms of another house.
Walking up the spindly looking stairs, I entered the main level of the dropcraft. Although the Dragonfly was based on a design used for cargo, the Alaska class, the main level wasn’t left empty like in most cargo craft. Racks of electronic equipment filled the forward section of the level, while several light vehicles and aircraft occupied the rear.
My arrival on the control level was met by the Dragonfly’s flight captain, Reichsritter Franz von Sickingen. The level was illuminated red by general illumination lights and the gentle glows of equipment displays and indicators. An occasional green hue was cast from other display panels such as the ones used by the craft’s pilots.
“Welcome back, Reichsgräfin,” Franz said as he respectfully nodded, “the Dragonfly has spent the past six months at the Wilhelm Sigismund Orbital Yards. I’ll brief you on the refit it received once we get underway.”