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Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

For Reference:

Kyree (key ree): anthromorph wolf-like race

Kenseng (ken sang): anthromorph tiger-like race

Drala (dra la): anthromorph reptilian-like race

Arastos (a rest tos): alien starship http://www.sofurry.com/page/248059

Arastos Crew:

Kanolos (ka no loss): male kyree, starship helmsman, mated to Riyla

Riyla (ri la): female kyree, starship captain, mated to Kanolos

Shyla (shy la): female kenseng, starship tactical officer/cook, mated to Yanashi

Yanashi (yana she): female kyree, starship tactical officer/physician, mated to Shyla

Eriras (ear rass): female kenseng, starship engineer, mated to Taylo

Taylo (tay low): male kenseng, starship engineer, mated to Eriras

Lumina (loo men na): holographic female kyree construct, starship supporting A.I.

Keith (key th): male human, human ambassador/starship operations officer

Territory Map Diagram: http://www.sofurry.com/page/222716/

Without Mercy

Written By: Spudz

Pain... utter... excruciating pain. His world was only that... a personal hell that he could not hope to escape from. The light had been taken from his eyes, his muscles robbed of all their strength, his body feeling as though it would tear itself apart from the inside out... there was no greater torture one could experience.

To his superiors he was simply known as Infantryman Service Tag Number 2821-012, a humbling notion that truly indicated just how insignificant the drala's life was in the grand scheme of things.

Number 12 had sold his soul to the military. It was an inauspicious decision, which had been made so that he could provide a comfortable living for his family back home. He had seen no better way to ensure their well-being given the widespread food shortages spreading throughout the Domain Empire, other than the military ration coupons that 12 routinely sent back home. The thought had always been comforting to him, knowing that for all of the horrors he saw and participated in, at least his family was relatively well-off.

Upon enlisting, Number 12 had been swiftly transformed into the soldier he was now. The process as a whole was utterly eye-opening. Over the course of his training his instructors had made damned sure to iterate the dismal fact that Service Tag 2821-012, as a single infantryman, was now only a nondescript number, driving home the point that he was easily expendable for the greater good of the Domain. It was a sobering fact that every soldier came to grips with at one point or another. You were simply just an insignificant number... a single replaceable individual who was handed a plasma rifle and told to throw your life away at the drop of a hat.

Number 12 had come to understand that he would almost certainly lose his life fighting for the Domain. Each time he engaged in combat, it was as if he entered into a gambling bet with his life... each engagement like a dice roll of chance... and now it seemed that his latest roll had turned up foul, leaving his life squarely in Death's cold callous hands. Although, in a horrendous twist of fate, it seemed that he wouldn't die by an enemy's pull of the trigger, but rather of something far more sinister and deadly.

There was only darkness. The infantryman had lost his sight a day ago, as blood began to pool into his eyes. The last visual memory he had was of a drala nurse standing over his bed, her reptilian expression mortified while she watched her patient's condition deteriorate. Number 12 could not will his arms and legs to move... his body simply did not function. Instead he could only lay there and attempt to block out the crippling agony that continuously racked his awareness without mercy. There was nothing but the pain.

The hapless infantryman bled from every orifice of his body, shocking the handful of nurses and physicians attending to his condition. They had never seen such a terrible disease wreak havoc on a patient's body before. Periodically 12 would feel himself lifted up so that the blood soaked sheets of the bed could be changed out, the agony of the motion almost always knocking him unconscious soon after. It was as if his body was being eaten from the inside out, with numerous organs already beginning to fail from rapid blood loss. The starship hospital staff could do nothing to hold off the virus's relentless advance with the limited supplies and medical technology they had on hand. As far as the soldier knew, they had already given up on trying to save his life. Why waste precious time and medicine on a patient who was already dead?

The limited pain medication that was on hand had already been administered; yet, still Number 12 groaned in anguish. There was just a general sense of helplessness, while the Ebola pathogen carried out its deadly act. At least after 12's eventual death, he could rest peacefully in the afterlife knowing his family would be well looked after.

If a soldier met his untimely end in the service of the Domain, his immediate family gained the distinction of becoming a ward of the state. Thus, a soldier could die knowing that his children and his mate would live under the protection of the government, a repayment for his sacrifice. It was by far the most enticing benefit for a drala to enlist. While Number 12 relished the fact that his passing would help secure his family's future, the thought did little to stem the torment he suffered as he sat on Death's doorstep.

The infantryman tried desperately to fill his mind will pleasant thoughts... memories of his two children smiling from across the dinner table... his mate greeting him at their humble apartment door with a broad smile as he returned home from work at his previous job... and then his memories suddenly snapped back to a different time.

There standing before Number 12 was a lone female human, dressed in a white lab coat... her eyes filled with terror. Looking down the sight of his plasma rifle, the soldier surveyed his surroundings within the Russian bio research facility, noting that the human had been removing small vials from a large storage cabinet... and then suddenly an ampoule was thrown at him. The drala's recollection stopped there, with the small clear container sailing through the air straight toward his face.

Undoubtedly, this was the reason behind Number 12's sudden severe illness. It seemed that the now dead human scientist had gotten the last laugh after all. He wished her no ill will, for she had acted out of outright fear. In fact, 12 longed to go back and relive that fateful moment once more. Perhaps he could have approached the confrontation differently, and maybe avoided both her death and his own. Hindsight was but a cruel mistress.

And then once more the pain enveloped his awareness like a torrent, trying to push out the memories that he so desperately clung to.

For some time, 12 had suffered while feeling utterly alone, unable to glimpse the world around him. He wanted to scream in agony; he wanted to throw himself off the bed. But he could not summon the strength. As his body slowly withered away, the drala's mind fought valiantly to maintain the last shred of his sanity.

The infantryman felt a gentle hand come to rest against the scales of his forearm. For a moment he forgot about the pain, forgot about the illness ravaging his body... he simply relished the feeling of someone's caring touch.

"You've been a brave soldier," a feminine voice spoke in a soothing tenor, barely audible to his hearing. "I'm terribly sorry I couldn't do more to help you fight through this terrible illness."

The soldier felt another hand come to gently take hold of his wrist, before rotating his own hand around, palm up. A sharp sting unexpectedly emanated from where his arm was held, briefly cutting through the unbearable pain of his body. Number 12 inhaled sharply as he realized the nurse had just injected him with something.

Slowly a cooling feeling began to grow and spread down his arm, gradually working its way up toward his shoulder. Where the soothing chill went, the pain melted away, causing the drala soldier to exhale deeply in relief.

The time had finally come.... the nurse had given him a euthanasia injection.

The relaxing chill continued its slow march up his arm, moving out across his chest and down to his lower body, erasing the agony as it traveled. 12 felt a hand lightly grasp his own, while another stroked along his forearm.

"Walk peacefully in the shadow... go now on your voyage to the hereafter." The nurse's invocation of an ancient prayer for the dead touched Number 12 deeply.

With great effort he willed his hand to move, before finally managing to clutch hers. He felt her gently squeeze back in reassurance, as the chill became a cold numbness throughout his body. The drala had prepared himself for death; however, he couldn't help but feel frightened of the unknown that awaited him. Just what lay out beyond the end of one's life? Would he be able to look down upon his family and watch his children grow up without their father? Was there even an afterlife?

Number 12 felt tears begin to well up in his eyes, just as his awareness started to close in.

"I would've liked to have seen my family just one more time..."

********************

The onset of nightfall slowly draped the city in a blanket of darkness, bringing about a welcomed cooling of the otherwise stiflingly hot landscape. As the sun gradually fell below the horizon, framed between the massive buildings of the city's skyline, a lone man stood silently on the balcony of his home watching the spectacle, wondering just what would happen next.

The skyline of Sydney, Australia always provided a stunning backdrop for Lucas Martin's backyard patio, allowing him to indulge in countless sunsets that back-lit the high-rise buildings in magnificent golden light, before eventually night would take hold and the city itself would become aglow in its own unique splendor.

It was mid-November, meaning the beginning of the summer season for the region, as was the norm for the Southern Hemisphere. While most of the world found itself gripped by the cold hand of winter, Australia roasted under an unforgiving sun. There was certainly no denying how oppressive the heat was this time of year, but it was only a minor nuisance for the locals. This contrast was just one of many that segregated the country from the other so-called western nations across the globe.

Looking out over the waters of the bay his house jutted up against, Lucas's vantage point of the city beyond could not have been more picturesque. He always enjoyed spending time out here watching boats of all shapes and sizes slowly drift by, while the skyscrapers continued to stand prominently in the background. However, the normally spectacular view was now marred by the presence of an unholy monster, which hovered over the city menacingly.

The Domain battle cruiser's compartmentalized configuration gave the odd appearance of several boxes mashed together lengthwise to form the starship's superstructure. The ungainly jet black hull of the cruiser hovered awkwardly just over the city center, while seemingly defying the laws of gravity in quite the dramatic fashion. In the waning light, Lucas could only just make out all of the formidable armaments evident across the vessel's exterior... there was no question that the aliens could turn the city into a parking lot if they choose to do so.

Lucas Martin was a stock trader by profession. Thus, he typically found himself working through the late hours of the night to keep tabs with the American and European stock exchanges. His occupation had been quite lucrative over the past few years, netting the trader a sizable portfolio... that was, until a sudden series of events that had played out over in the States.

All of Lucas's knowledge in the trade had proven useless when first contact was made just over a week ago. Consequently, the market had degenerated into complete and utter chaos, as no one knew what to make of the situation. Fortunes had been lost and made in the span of mere minutes, creating a volatile stock trend that quickly became outright panic. As a stock trader there was no worse situation to be caught up in. Nevertheless, that problem paled in comparison to the mess he now found himself a part of.

The first warnings had come over the news wires with fragmented reports of alien contacts all across the globe. The vagueness of additional information only deepened the growing panic ... political figureheads suddenly disappearing... military defenders being overwhelmed... the world suddenly finding itself thrust headlong into a fight against a merciless enemy. The news did not bode well.

The initial surprise attack by the Domain had not targeted any military installations within Australia, giving the various armed branches of the country several hours' time to prepare. As Lucas had looked on in curiosity, the HMAS Ballarat, an Anzac class frigate of the Royal Australian Navy, took up a defensive position at the mouth of the Bay leading out to the Tasman Sea. She was the pride of the fleet, being one of a handful of her class commissioned into active service. However, her might was no match for the massive alien battle cruiser that had suddenly swooped down from the heavens, to impart its divine judgment on the ill-fated human vessel.

Lucas had watched in outright horror as the Anzac was blown violently apart by a single sickening lance of green energy from the Domain starship. The frigate had not even been able to fire her own weapons in anger before sinking to her watery grave.

In a show of frightening savagery, the meager defenses his country's military could assemble were obliterated without so much as a second thought from their alien foe, at least as far as Lucas was aware. No doubt the more prominent military powers such as the United States and China had not fared much better. There was just no defending against such raw overwhelming strength.

Now though, the situation had settled into a tense unease. It seemed as if the aliens were waiting for something, judging by the lack of activity on their part.

To the extent that Lucas could discern, the enemy had only targeted military elements, while leaving the bulk of civilian infrastructure mainly intact. The city itself was practically untouched... usually when aliens showed up in the movies, everything got blown to hell and back. It was rather odd to see Sydney's skyline perfectly intact while the capital starship continued to hover just overhead.

Nonetheless, the power and water had long since been rendered inoperable, most likely due to the fact that almost all utility workers had fled from their jobs. Left to his own devices, Lucas had gone out to the local market and procured himself enough provisions to last for at least two weeks. There hadn't been much competition, given that almost all of his neighbors had also vacated the area out of fear.

It was rather eerie how empty the streets were; from cars left abandoned all along the road, to shops and businesses remaining vacant and empty... along with the occasional fire that raged out of control from the initial wave of panic that had occurred when the aliens first arrived. There were still others like Lucas that had elected to remain behind. Still, the city was but a mere ghost of its former self.

Just at that moment, a flight of five Domain fighter spacecraft passed directly over his head. The distinct high-pitched whine of their impulse engines always brought a chill to Lucas's spine, while the formation continued on its lazy circular patrol around the capital ship. Appearing almost like a manta ray, the eerie silhouettes of the small nimble craft were quite menacing to behold as they flew overhead. So far, he had only seen the small ships on routine patrol... although to what purpose he wasn't exactly sure. No doubt, the massive capital spacecraft could easily blot anything from the sky with a powerful shot of green energy, just like the one that had decimated the Ballarat.

So... where would matters head now? It was a perplexing question that Lucas found himself asking. Just what would happen next? Already this alien species had asserted its authority and undoubtedly seized control of most nations worldwide, if not all of them. What was their ultimate goal for coming here? How did humanity fit into their plan? It seemed that the world as Lucas knew it had come drastically to an end. Whatever lay ahead would prove to be a new unforeseen chapter in humankind's history.

Perhaps he should have packed his things and left the city. There was nothing left for him to do here... not while the world was caught up in such disarray. The stock markets had all been closed down, serving to idle his work for the time being... not that he cared much about that now anyway. He supposed that it was his natural curiosity for the unknown that kept Lucas right here standing on his porch. History was being written at this very moment, and he felt like he had to be part of it at least in some small way.

Lucas's thoughts were suddenly interrupted by the distinct sound of someone speaking from just within the sliding glass door of his house. For a moment he simply listened in confusion, wondering who could possibly have wandered into his residence... until realization dawned on him abruptly... the voice could only mean one thing! In a rush, he quickly turned and made for the door, excitement quickly getting the better of him.

The source of the voice in question turned out to be from that of a simple ham radio, which sat atop the kitchen table. Utilizing a portable battery pack, the radio equipment had been connected to a shortwave antenna mounted to the roof, while the gear scanned through every known frequency for any sign of communication from another source. The setup as a whole was nothing too fancy, and could easily be run on batteries for some time.

Lucas had the distinction to be known as a ham operator, or an amateur radio operator. The hobby always proved fascinating for him, as he had come to meet quite a wide range of interesting people over the private radio frequency spectrum. Going by the call sign Trader, he was best known throughout the community for his reliable information on stock market trends and advice. Now though, Lucas's personal equipment set was serving a whole other purpose... that being to remain connected with others as the world fell apart around him.

Initially he had toyed with the idea of disconnecting his equipment, in order to conserve battery life. Unlike most diehard operators, Lucas did not possess a backup electrical generator. But, rather only a few battery packs that could sustain power for roughly another week at best. Yet, something had persuaded him to keep probing the airwaves, to keep an ear open for any vital information that might be broadcasted. And now it seemed that his intuition had been right.

"I hope that in such a dire time, this message can be heard... and thus repeated with the utmost urgency."

The voice belonged to a man, middle-aged, probably Caucasian. Slowly Lucas eased himself down into a chair, while the same message was repeated once more. It was conspicuous how clearly the signal was being received by his equipment. Normally a notable tone of static was interlaced in with a given transmission... but this... this was clear as day.

"My name is Harold Schrader. Some might recognize me as President of the United States... but, that fact is of no importance. Today I bring an important message, one that I hope will save lives."

Lucas's gaze remained fixated on the small radio sitting atop his kitchen table, as he listened in captivated silence.

"We... as a civilization, find ourselves at war. A war... against a foe who we do not fully understand. Many have lost their lives fighting to defend our planet against these ruthless aggressors, and many more will follow. However, humanity is not fully aware of the scale that governs this conflict."

There was a slight pause, allowing Lucas to absorb Schrader's words carefully.

"This is a war that spans out far beyond the meager reaches of our solar system. It is a war between alien races far beyond the technological prowess humanity currently finds itself at. Our planet is the focal point of this conflict... a conflict between a territory known as the Domain, and another called the Federation."

Lucas couldn't believe what he was hearing. Quickly he checked to make sure that the transmission was being recorded.

"It is the Domain that has so ruthlessly invaded our planet. They seek to annex our world into their territory, and by doing so hope to strengthen their position in this region of space. Their actions against our species are a full declaration of war, and humanity will answer in kind. I will not stand by and allow such atrocities to happen against the people I have sworn to protect as a leader. I speak not just for my country, but for every single human that inhabits this humble planet we call Earth."

"I owe my current freedom, and perhaps my life, to a certain intrepid crew of the Federation, who risked their own lives to rescue me. As such, I have placed my full support behind their cause, while they struggle to fight back against the aggressions of the Domain."

The President's tone abruptly grew more ominous.

"Already our world has been ravaged by conflict... but I warn that this is only the beginning. A counterattack of the most extreme ferocity will come to drive the Domain from our world... we will take our revenge for the atrocities these coldhearted aliens have committed against both humanity, and our new allies of the Federation. We will succeed... and that is a fact."

"The enemy will seek to use our cities as human shields, in the vain hope that any attack will result in unacceptable collateral damage. Thus, I ask each and every person listening to this broadcast to repeat my words to those who are not... everyone should evacuate from city and urban regions immediately... don't give the Domain a chance to hold your life hostage."

The President's speech continued on. However, Lucas was no longer paying the radio any mind. With a start, he bolted out of his chair and made for the bedroom, intent on packing up what belongings he could take with him... he didn't need to be told twice to leave.

The distinct sound of whining impulse engines just above his house only reaffirmed that notion.

***************

The message had been sent... there was nothing more the crew of Arastos could do now to warn humanity of the coming battle.

Lumina's method of deploying President Schrader's message turned out to be rather low tech, relatively speaking. While the message would not reach a vast majority of the populace, it was the A.I.'s only means of warning. She just hoped that those who had heard the broadcast would endeavor to get the word out quickly.

Most of the power grid across the planet had been rendered inoperable as a result of one thing or another. Thus, Lumina could not rely on television broadcasts or anything through the human Internet. That left the humble radio as her sole option. The number of humans actually operating such equipment was miniscule at best, but it was the only card she had to play.

Drifting lazily high above the planet's surface in low Earth orbit, commonly referred to as LEO, a humble unmanned probe, nearly the size and shape of a beach ball, continued its endless circles of the terra firma below. The spacecraft had been keeping a watchful eye on Earth with an assortment of multi-spectral sensors, having been instructed to do so by Lumina when Arastos first arrived on station a month ago... long before the fateful night of the ISS rescue mission. Now though, the A.I. had given it one last command, that being to broadcast the President's speech on a wide spectrum of low and high radio frequencies.

Unfortunately, not all of planet Earth spoke English. To address this issue, Lumina had carefully deconstructed the recorded audio file of Schrader's address. Once this was accomplished, the construct analyzed the speech patterns, tone, and delivery of each word he had spoken, down to the letter. Following that, she skillfully produced several different copies of the file from the ground up, each with the President's words spoken through a different language using his unique voice. The result was quite astonishing, for those that heard his voice speaking in their own dialect were rather surprised. Just how could the President of the United States speak Chinese so fluently?

The probe was joined by seven others of similar design, each spaced out across the planet to provide almost a full blanket of coverage for the transmission... all employing one version of the speech audio copies Lumina had generated. Typically, the small chassis of the craft, coupled with some stealth countermeasures, allowed for them to go unnoticed by the enemy. However, once the broadcast was initiated, the tiny objects were clearly illuminated to the sensors of any Domain warships nearby.

Once the message had been successfully sent, each probe initiated a self-destruction sequence, causing a built-in explosive charge to detonate and consume the vessel in a small blast, lest they fall into enemy hands. There was no telling what intelligence might be gleaned from such a fatal error, had the probes been captured.

Now the dominoes were all set, just waiting for the opportune moment to fall. All that was needed was for someone to knock the first one over...

***************

You could cut the tension with a knife... the silence was absolutely deafening.

Captain Rubin sat uncomfortably in his chair on the Conn of the USS Maryland, weighing the gravity of the unholy decision he was about to make. All of the time spent drilling; practicing... the years in naval academy training to become captain of a boomer submarine... and now the fateful time had arrived for Ian to perform the one sole dire obligation of his professional career.

Held in the skipper's hand was that of a large key ring, the smooth metal hoop containing a set of 24 unassuming keys. He couldn't help but remark on how the small objects seemingly weighed half a ton as they hung from his grasp. There was but one sinister purpose for these keys he now possessed, that being to ready the 24 Trident missiles housed within the Maryland for launch.

The men stationed about the compartment continued going about their various duties with a subdued air, each crewman knowing full well what they were about to do. Ian could feel the unease radiating throughout the space, the anxiety almost becoming palpable. However, all the crew could do for the moment was wait, and try to keep frayed nerves in check.

The USS Maryland currently found herself cruising along at roughly 10 knots, submerged down at a depth of 1200 feet. Now out beyond the continental shelf, the boomer sub had ducked down below the thermal layer for better concealment, providing Ian with far more concealment than the shallows near the coast.

In submarine warfare, this constantly fluctuating boundary between differing water temperatures served as a sound buffer, which repelled noise echoes above and below the layer. The result was that a submarine could employ this defense in a multitude of ways; whether against another submerged adversary, or a surface contact. A good boomer skipper knew how to use the thermal layers well; although, such a strategy was almost certainly ineffective against the Domain.

Again Captain Rubin checked his Seamaster watch... 03:44 Zulu time ... any moment now. Ian just had to wait a little longer. He had already put as much distance between his boat and the mainland as he could, therefore reducing the risk of collateral damage when all hell broke loose. Now, out here within the deep Atlantic in relative safety, he would kick off the Federation's counterattack via a brilliant fireworks display. They just had to wait for the exact moment.

Ian returned to his previously statuesque posture; elbows resting on the chair's armrests, chin propped atop his clasped hands with the missile keys still held tightly. As the captain remained motionless, the restlessness continued to propagate around him.

"Conn, Radio... we're receiving a communication on the ELF transponder."

The sudden announcement over the compartment speakers jolted the crew visibly, while Ian quickly stood from his chair to reach a nearby intercom.

"Radio, Conn... bring it up here as soon as it comes through," Captain Rubin commanded crisply, after punching in a line to the radio compartment. His order was promptly acknowledged while Ian replaced the intercom into its respective holder mounted to the bulkhead above his chair.

The ELF, or Extremely Low Frequency, communication system had been designed so that a submarine could pick up a transmission from Naval Command while submerged down at the deeper end of its operating depth. The technology employed a transmission frequency of 76 Hz, allowing for the broadcast to penetrate down to the depths that a sub typically operated at. However, the drawback to the system was the extremely long time duration needed to simply communicate one letter of a coded message. Thus, the ELF system had only been used to transmit simple instructions, usually to come up to a shallower depth to establish communications through different means.

Several minutes elapsed as the message was slowly received over the extremely long wavelengths of the broadcast, until finally a simple piece of paper was printed out in the radio compartment.

Ian turned to greet his Communications Officer as the man nearly sprinted into the room several moments later, clutching the message paper in his hand as if his life depended on it. Without words, the communication was exchanged between captain and officer.

The text printed on the paper was very short, containing only two words. There was no preamble, no indication of who had sent the message and who the message was intended for. Yet, Captain Rubin knew otherwise. The first word simply read "GUMBO," followed by "TCRUSSM."

It was the message that Ian had been so anxiously waiting for... the go code.

Before the two crews of the alliance had parted ways, Riyla and Ian had made sure to agree upon a code, which would be used to initiate the counterattack. The word GUMBO was agreed upon as the go code, while SHELLFISH was the delay signal. Obviously Captain Riyla never missed a chance to tease Kano, as the fox-furred kyree had shown a rather strong distaste for seafood. The second grouping of letters was the authentication code, which stood for: "To Captain Rubin, USS Maryland."

For a moment, Ian simply stared at the humble piece of paper, just to make sure he had read the communication right. He could feel the eyes of many riveted to the back of his head.

"Well gentlemen, this is the moment we've prepared for," the skipper began, as he handed the paper off to Buck. "We have been given the go-ahead to initiate a strategic launch."

The XO took the sheet and eyed it carefully, before visibly steeling himself. "I concur with the captain's assessment of this message."

Ian turned his attention to the nearby corner of the compartment, where none other than President Harold Schrader himself stood. Still wearing his suit and tie, the Commander in Chief radiated with a sense of authority, his expression impassive while he regarded Ian. It was certainly an understatement that the crew seemed to walk on eggshells around the political figurehead.

At that moment, the President nodded his head ever so slightly, while his gaze became ominous. Both men new the gravity of the decision they had to make right here, right now. There would be no going back from here on out.

"Man battle stations missile," Captain Rubin commanded with authority. Swiftly he moved to stand prominently at the center of the Conn, just as alarms began to blare all throughout the ship, accompanied by the captain's order being repeated over the ship's PA system.

At once the entire boomer sub sprang into action, with each submariner swiftly moving to their stations... the scene was finely rehearsed chaos, a carefully coordinated commotion that had been practiced an immeasurable number of times. To the outside observer, it was nothing less than a small miracle that so many crew members could run to-and-fro without crashing headlong into one another, or jumbling up in disordered heaps within the cramped confines of bulkhead corridors or compartment hatches.

The constant drilling and practice had paid off, as the crew swiftly assumed their posts in record time. Even without nukes strapped to the top of his SLBMs, Captain Rubin elected to follow protocol as much as he could. Never mind the fact that these new alien hybrid weapons were vastly more potent than any weapon humanity had ever created.

Once the commotion had died down, Ian reached up to again remove the communication intercom from its holder, before thumbing open a channel to broadcast throughout the entire submarine.

"This is the captain... we have received an authentic communication sanctioning the release of strategic arms." The skipper paused for a moment to let his words sink in with the crew. He quickly shot a glance over to Schrader, who continued to stand impassively near the bulkhead, his expression unreadable. "Rig ship for condition 1SQ... this is not a drill."

It was an order unheard-of outside the standard exercises carried out on a boomer sub. Condition 1SQ was a missile status that indicated the Ohio class sub was ready to unleash her strategic arsenal. Conversely, 4SQ signified normal ship operating status. Thus the captain's words to bring the Maryland to such a high state of readiness reverberated throughout the hull like a gunshot.

Still holding the intercom in hand, Ian turned to his Weapons Officer. Wordlessly he handed the ring of missile keys over to the man, who promptly turned and exited the Conn with utmost haste. It was now the officer's job to bring the keys to the firing control room, where a slew of his counterparts and enlisted men would work to ready the SLBMs for firing.

Ian watched the man disappear through the nearby hatch, before he returned his attention to the ship-wide broadcast. "Spin up missiles 1 through 24 for immediate launch... I repeat this is not a drill... rig ship for ultra-quiet... this is the captain."

As those words hung heavily in the air, Buck took possession of another communication receiver and punched in an open channel. With a pause, he turned to eye Captain Rubin knowingly, allowing for a silent agreement to pass between peers. "This is the XO... set ship condition 1SQ. Spin up missiles 1 through 24... this is not a drill. Rig ship for ultra-quiet."

A momentary pause ensued, before a disembodied voice echoed through the compartment speakers. "Conn, Weapons... estimated time to missile readiness state 1SQ is 12 minutes, sir."

Captain Rubin eyed his watch... 3:52 am. Good. They were slightly ahead of schedule. "Weapons, Conn... confirm strategic strike package SLBM001ET... this is the captain."

The skipper waited patiently as the guidance strike package information Lumina had supplied for each missile was checked over by the crew within the weapons compartment.

"Conn, Weapons... confirm strike package SLBM001ET for missiles 1 through 24, aye sir... all guidance systems show green."

"Helm, make you depth 1-5-0 feet... smartly," Ian ordered abruptly, turning his attention to the station in question after replacing the communication receiver.

The enlisted men and officers manning the helm had already anticipated his command, since the Maryland first had to rise to her launch depth in order to jettison her strategic arms. His command was crisply acknowledged, while the ensign manning the control yoke pulled back to maneuver the fairwater and stern planes.

The boomer responded rapidly to the sudden change in her control surfaces as the hull began a swift ascent toward the surface. Quickly the deck angle increased within the sub, forcing Ian and everyone else aboard to grab hold of railings or anything else handy to steady their balance.

With the boat beginning her climb toward the surface, Captain Rubin elected to again check his surroundings as he reached up to thumb a channel to sonar. "Sonar, Con... any new contacts to report?"

"Con, Sonar... our only contact is Sierra 12, bearing 0-7-6 at 22 nautical miles ... making turns for 12 knots... course now 0-8-5. The merchant ship poses no threat."

"Very well, please advise of any changes." Without missing a beat, Ian changed the channel to another setting. "Torpedo, Con... what is your status?"

Again, a momentary pause followed.

"Con, Torpedo... we have four MOSS decoys currently armed... two in the dedicated decoy tubes, and one in tubes 1 and 4."

The MOSS, or Mobile Submarine Simulator, decoy was a standard defensive countermeasure found on all US submarines. Employing an outer casing almost identical to a standard torpedo weapon, the decoy was capable of being fired from the torpedo tubes of SSBN boomer subs and SSN attack boats. Furthermore, each could operator under its own propulsion for some time duration, allowing the countermeasure to be steered and guided about.

By generating a strong underwater signature intended to mimic that of a submarine, the MOSS decoy was designed with the sole intent to take the place of a submarine on an enemy's sonar or magnetic sensors, providing a skipper with a wide assortment of uses... the main being torpedo evasion.

Now it was Ian's intention to use four of the six MOSS decoys he had aboard to increase the odds, however small that boost might be, of keeping his boat in one piece once all 24 SLBMs were launched. He quickly conferred with the ensign on the other end of the link to make sure the decoys were programmed on dissimilar courses and speeds. Each countermeasure would be connected back to the Maryland via a long control cable, at least for a fixed distance. Thus, corrections could be made depending on how the situation developed.

The remaining two firing tubes were occupied by MK 48 Mod 7 CBASS torpedoes. Each fish, as they were commonly called in the Silent Service, retained the capability to kill a surface ship or enemy sub contact, depending on the combat situation at hand. The MK 48 had been in service with the US Navy since 1972. Over that time, the model was constantly retrofitted and upgraded to cope with emerging technology, culminating with the Common Broadband Advanced Sonar System model now serving aboard the Maryland. There was probably little such primitive weapons could do if the Domain came knocking; but it didn't hurt to be prepared.

After replacing the receiver back into the holder, Ian again assumed his chair with an authoritative air, calmly surveying the compartment around him as his crew continued their varying tasks to ready the Maryland for firing. The skipper could not have asked for better men to serve with in such a dangerous and pivotal role of this deadly conflict. They were the tip of the spear for humanity... and he would make damned sure not to fail his race.

There was no telling just how much of an impact his SLBMs would have on the coming battle. The Federation crew had assured him on a number of occasions that his part in the counterattack would be absolutely crucial, although Ian wasn't exactly sure how true that was. Compared to the firepower carried by the alien capital starships, judging by what he had been told by the kyree and kenseng crew, his arsenal was but a drop in the bucket if you looked at the grand scheme of the fight to come.

As matters turned out though, his effectiveness in the master plan had more to do with the sub's position planetside. If a power sought to occupy a foreign world with military elements, logic dictated that the bulk of defenses be concentrated outward. This was due to the unavoidable problem that an enemy could attack in a wide-ranging spherical area around the immediate region; such was the difficulty of combat out in space. In turn, this provided a key opening for the Federation strategy.

The issue was a fundamental one, warfare 101. A commander always had to consider protecting his supply lines first and foremost, lest the enemy disrupt the flow and stock of materials or fuel... and jeopardize a given operation. Consequently, a rational method to do so would be to position non-combat supporting vessels in low Earth orbit, while concentrating military forces further outward in a protective sphere of defense. This minimized exposure of vulnerable assets to the enemy, while also maintaining an effective defense against an advance by the adversary. Of course this only worked if there were no enemy assets on the planet surface... or underwater.

That was where the Maryland came into the picture. Utilizing the submarine's key position below the unsuspecting enemy fleet, the strategy called for a decisive strategic attack against said vulnerable supply convoys, effectively removing the enemy's ability to sustain such a large invasion force over a period of time. Accordingly, the task of providing the guidance strike coordinates to best succeed in this mission fell into Lumina's capable hands.

By analyzing the enemy's movements over previous days, coupled with factoring in the known flight envelope of the Trident II SLBM, the A.I. construct had been able to provide the best series of strike coordinates for all 24 missiles, to maximize the potential damage of the strategic strike through estimations of where most of the Domain fleet would be concentrated at the time of attack.

Undoubtedly, Ian's surprise missile strike from the surface, coupled with the other nasty surprise the A.I. had in store for the drala, would throw the enemy fleet off balance rather nicely when the main attack came.

"Helm, zero bubble... zero angle... holding steady at 1-5-0 feet, captain."

Ian's thoughts were interrupted by the Diving Officer's announcement, as the deck finished leveling off. The USS Maryland was now just under the ocean surface, still making 10 knots headway on a course of 0-9-0, due east.

"Con, Weapons... time to missile status 1SQ now three minutes."

In response, Captain Rubin turned to the Diving Officer of the Watch. "Dive, prepare to hover at 1-3-0 feet."

Effectively, Ian had just passed control of the ship over to the officer's hands, whose responsibly aboard was to maintain the Maryland at ordered depth utilizing the dive planes, ballast tanks, and ship's speed... not an easy task to say the least when attempting to balance such a large vessel near the surface of unpredictable seas.

Swiftly orders were passed along to bring the ship's speed down to just one knot, while simultaneously a handful of enlisted men set about adjusting trim settings on the ballast tanks to slowly bring the hull up from 150 feet to the desired depth. The endeavor was a carefully orchestrated dance between crew members, which as a whole came together to expertly manipulate the ship's position according to the Diving Officer's commands.

The desired speed was soon reached after a series of delicate backing bell speed adjustments to slow the hull's momentum, allowing for the automated hovering system to take control of the ship's depth orientation. Now hovering at 130 feet while maintaining a speed of just over one knot, the USS Maryland was in prime position to fire.

"Con, Weapons... opening vertical launch tube outer doors."

A deep groan of noise rapidly reverberated throughout the ship's hull, announcing to the crew that the first of 24 missile hatches had begun to open. Out in the murky depths of the Atlantic Ocean, the small door of missile bay number 1 slowly rotated away from the sub exterior, revealing a layer of plastic-like material beneath, which shielded the actual Trident missile bus from the corrosive seawater above. The remaining 23 hatches followed suit quickly, soon presenting the Maryland with her fangs bared... ready to fire her entire strategic arsenal in anger for the first time.

"Con, Weapons... missiles 1 through 24 are now at status 1SQ... we are ready to fire."

At that moment President Schrader stepped forward to capture the attention of everyone on the Conn. The Commander in Chief looked every bit the esteemed political figurehead he was, while he let his gaze sweep across the compartment and its occupants... a hushed quiet suddenly took hold.

"I know all of you understand the gravity of the act we are about to commit," Schrader spoke, his voice solemn. "Just remember that we are fighting for humanity... for our freedom." The President's words trailed off as he turned to regard Ian.

Understanding what came next, Captain Rubin reached a hand up to grasp the unassuming lanyard draped around his neck, before fishing out a humble key from underneath his khaki shirt. For a moment he simply eyed the tiny object in his hand meaningfully. The fact was amazing that such a small and insignificant thing could be the one key needed to launch a whole arsenal of strategic arms.

With a deliberate step, Ian made his way over to the missile control board. Possessing a rather large screen, the panel indicated the readiness status of all 24 Tridents aft of the Conn. At the moment, the display was awash with red, signifying that all of the SLBMs were in a safe configuration to prevent a launch.

Captain Rubin's gaze shifted over to a small key port housed alongside the missile status screen. While the crew and President Schrader looked on in rapt silence, he carefully inserted his Captain's Key into the slot... and twisted.

At once the station's display changed, as the mass of red status icons were replaced with swaths of green, completely inundating the screen... now, there were no security measures left... just a mere pull of a trigger would unleash hell.

Back in the Weapons Compartment, the Weapons Officer had already entered a combination into a small safe located just above his console. Within the safe was that of a simple firing trigger, which the officer promptly extracted and gripped it in his hand carefully. There was simply no describing just how much power he held in his grasp.

04:05 am... just five minutes to wait.

The tension seemed to hang in the air like a dank cloud. In frustration, Ian subtly reached up to wipe the sweat from his brow as he continued to wait. They had to launch at precisely the right moment, else the entire plan would fall apart before it even got started. It would prove to be the longest five minutes of the skipper's life; while he slowly watched the seconds tick by on the digital clock mounted to the bulkhead nearby.

"Launch the MOSS decoys," The captain commanded smartly.

***************

For the moment, there was nothing to do. The lapse in chaos was oddly surprising, given just how out of sorts the situation was. Still, Admiral Taeskea would take any breather he could get.

The admiral found himself aboard his flagship, which was the Heleos class carrier known as the Rodaunm, one of the largest capital warships in the Domain's arsenal. Taeskea sat on the command bridge of his ship, seated comfortably in a plush chair overlooking the rest of the compartment space. He held a cup containing an herbal drink, which served to alleviate his upset stomach... a problem that had recently made itself more prevalent with the drala's increasing stress. While not particularly tasteful, the relief he felt from the soothing herbal remedy was well worth the trouble.

The view outside the bridge was filled with the massive circumference of the planet's moon, which reflected the light from the nearby star, what the humans called the Sun, rather brilliantly to the admiral's perspective. The sight was quite spellbinding, as a vast array of stars framed the massive girth of the orbiting moon in a stunning backdrop that continued to hold Taeskea's attention.

This... this was why the commanding drala had first ventured up into the far reaches of space. For the moment he forgot about the datapad held in his hand containing tactical information, forgot about his role as the commander of the invasion fleet... he even forgot why he currently found himself orbiting this strange planet in the first place.

Right now, he disregarded the multiple reports of small scale human attacks plaguing his forces at every turn planetside. He ignored growing concerns of a Federation counterattack. Hell... he gave no thought to the mysterious human illness that continued to spread throughout his fleet.

Instead, Taeskea just simply let his mind wander.

It was a purely selfish indulgence, which he could not entertain long. Many lives depended on his every decision... but for now he simply relished the peace; although, a small part of his mind couldn't help but wonder... was this the calm before the storm?

Admiral Taeskea decided to chance a look at the nearby clock positioned on the bulkhead. At the onset of the invasion, he had decided to adjust the fleet's time to that of the local planet system, to better coordinate the invasion in line with human timetables. The admiral had settled on a time zone called GMT down on the surface, or Greenwich Mean Time... whatever that meant. He had found that the humans used it as a standardized system all across the globe, especially for military applications. Thus, the clock read 04:08 am. He was supposed to be asleep now... damn did he feel exhausted all of the sudden.

Taeskea entertained the notion of retiring for the evening, or morning depending on how he looked at it. Sleep did seem like a wonderful idea... yet, just as he made a move to stand, an aide abruptly appeared at his side completely out of breath.

"Sir... I'm sorry to disturb you at this time!" the winded drala began. He tried to compose himself noticeably before continuing. "I have a dire report for you!"

Admiral Taeskea sized the aide up wearily... before realization played across the features of his reptilian face. This was the very aide that he had dispatched on a task to determine what human borne illness was spreading throughout the fleet! The revelation jolted him into full awareness as he wordlessly gave the drala before him permission to proceed.

"Sir... it is considerably worse than I initially feared. We have a major epidemic on our hands!"

With that, the aide passed Taeskea a datapad he had been holding, which the admiral swiftly took possession of and began to read over anxiously.

Highly contagious... weaponized variant.... internal bleeding... extreme mortality rate... unknown number of infected...

The more he scrolled through the information, the more horrified the admiral became. This was indeed a dire situation to say the least! Ebola... the name of the virus sent a chill down Taeskea's spine. He could not begin to visualize how excruciating the pain would be to literally bleed out internally as your body was eaten alive from the inside out. Just what ungodly horror had been unleashed upon him?!

Pushing that horrid thought aside, Taeskea continued to read on grimly... until the last thread of data made his heart stop cold.

"How many infected hosts made it onto transports back home?!" Taeskea barked in alarm, causing the aide to nearly jump out of his scales. "Good Gods... we must hurry to get this under control before it becomes a pandemic of the grandest scale!"

The aide had opened his mouth to utter a rapid reply... when suddenly all hell broke loose...

***************

04:10 am... the time had arrived. Immediately events swung into action as the master plan was put into motion. Yet, before any shots were fired in anger, Lumina first had to play her decisive role.

Over the past couple of days, the A.I. had been carefully worming her consciousness throughout the Domain fleet's network, which linked up each individual starship into one cohesive grid. This allowed for the command infrastructure to more quickly obtain information and issue orders to the fleet... but, also opened up the possibility for a devastating attack through a means not fully appreciated by the drala... a crippling attack that Lumina fully intended to carry out ruthlessly.

It was the one innate skill of the A.I. construct that was unparalleled by her flesh and blood counterparts, that being her exceptional knack for electronic warfare and espionage. Lumina could break any known encryption or security system in existence with record speed, even those employed on top level systems within the Federation itself. The power she wielded was truly terrifying to those that understood just how much damage could be done in electronic warfare.

Consequently, the inception a decade ago of the A.I. decryption research and design program had been met with overwhelming criticism. How could so much responsibility and influence be trusted in the hands of an artificial intelligence, when the stability of such an entity was still doubtful? While the power of such electronic surveillance and espionage could not be ignored, especially when information was as much a weapon in war as a rifle, this concern had almost canceled the program before it even got underway.

However, through the extensive political efforts of a handful of scientific minds, the A.I. development research had been cautiously given the go ahead on a trial basis of study. As such, out of the small population of A.I. constructs that existed at the time, only three were chosen to test the final multilayer reflexive decryption algorithm created for use in electronic warfare applications.

Lumina had been the third and last A.I. assigned to the program. One of the other two constructs was that of an arrogant kenseng named Raythymo, who currently served with the Axis Cryptic Intelligence program. He had gone on to garner quite a reputation for cracking difficult defensive firewalls and security systems, while reigning with a sense of entitlement over his flesh and blood colleagues.

The other construct was a rather shy ryokian named Mathlia. She had remained behind at the testing facility to continue long term trials of the decryption program. It was said that she rarely showed her holographic self to others, which was analogous to that of a hybrid cross between a kangaroo and a feline... the physique of the ryokian race she represented.

Together the three constructs represented a full spectrum of personalities within the A.I. development program. Each had their strengths and weaknesses... and each had taken the decryption algorithm and performed feats unheard of in electronic warfare.

The strength of the multilayer reflexive program drew solely on the complex strength of the A.I.'s conscious patterns and awareness. By utilizing such a high level of intelligence in conjunction with a standard decryption process, the algorithm adapted to the network around it, constantly changing and evolving to the needs of the A.I. in such a way that no security measure could hope to defeat.

And now, Lumina planned to utilize this formidable talent of hers to wreak havoc with the Domain's network. They had no idea just how exposed their systems were to the construct's awareness and influence. She would make them pay dearly for that mistake.

She had carefully tracked all of the movements made by the enemy, noted supply and fuel stockpiles, analyzed schematics of drala ship designs to discover weaknesses, traced the command hierarchy all the way up to the single admiral coordinating the invasion... hell Lumina had regularly looked on from the security cameras while Taeskea went about his daily routine on the bridge. It was in the A.I.'s best interest to intimately know the commanding drala's subtle tendencies, how he thought and reacted. She had to get inside his head and attempt to guess what his course of action might be for a given situation.

However, that phase of the plan was now complete.

At precisely 04:10 am GMT time, a signal was received on a secure channel aboard a small scout vessel of the Domain fleet orbiting Earth. At that moment, most of the small ship's crew was sacked out for the night, leaving only an overnight shift to keep tabs on matters in the meantime. Consequently, no one was monitoring the communication equipment when suddenly one of the transmitters went offline.

In a fraction of a second, a link was made to a small partition of the ship's main computer core, where a sinister program had lain dormant for several days. Before the breach had a chance to be discovered, an activation code was sent to the program, followed quickly by the subspace link abruptly cutting off. A chain of events had now been thrown into play, while most of the ship's crew continued to sleep soundly... at least for the moment.

As Lumina had continued gathering intelligence on her adversary over the past few days, the construct had simultaneously been building a standalone algorithm for a critical undertaking she was tasked with. Once fully compiled, this series of code had been inserted into a special segment of the scout vessel's mainframe core, one that the A.I. had personally set aside for her surreptitious work.

The activation signal now given, the program quickly sprang into action. Possessing what could only be described as a ghost copy of Lumina's own cognitive processing code, the standalone algorithm quickly set into motion the falling of the first domino, as a connection was bridged over the fleet network to another starship nearby.

Just like the scout ship, another identical copy of the infiltration program was accessed in a segregated portion of the vessel's computer core. Lumina had made sure to place a copy on each starship she could access in the fleet, endeavoring to keep every instance isolated in a different part of each computer system, to mitigate the risk of the Domain discovering her work before the attack.

In an instant, numerous starships were accessed by the intrusion algorithm, each in turn reaching out to others in an exponentially expanding pattern. Once every program was activated, the attack shifted to the next phase... all of this accomplished in only a fraction of a second.

Helm, weapons, shields, maneuvering, propulsion, environmental... any systems of a starship that the algorithm could penetrate into, were quickly seized and isolated away from the crew. All across the fleet, console stations suddenly locked up as systems fell victim to Lumina's plan, much to the sudden confusion of the personnel manning the equipment. However, before a single word of alarm could be uttered, phase three of the attack was initiated.

To Admiral Taeskea's sudden alarm, the deck of the starship rapidly lurched downward, promptly throwing the surprised drala through the air sickeningly. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as he hurdled through the space, his mind reeling while he tumbled straight for the upper ceiling of the compartment. There was a nauseating sense of disorientation, almost causing the admiral to blackout before he abruptly crashed into the bulkhead with a muffled cry of pain.

The rest of the crew fared no better, as the entire contingent of drala was tossed about the bridge like a pinball machine. The scene was utter and complete chaos...

"Give me a status update!" Taeskea practically screamed, while the admiral continued to tumble awkwardly through the air in a dizzying spiral. His left shoulder was on fire after absorbing the brunt of the impact with the ceiling... but he quickly shoved the pain aside. "Someone tell me what the hell is going on!"

At that moment, he noticed the wall approaching and managed to maneuver his body around to contact the surface feet first. Carefully altering his trajectory, the drala angled his rebound over to a nearby console chair, which he then used expertly to arrest his motion. Upon steadying himself, Taeskea took notice of the bridge crew around him desperately attempting to do the same, with varying degrees of success. The artificial gravity was obviously not functioning... but why?!

The mystery quickly deepened as main power failed, causing battery powered backup lighting to switch on all across the compartment. Something was very wrong here...

"Sir... I'm locked out of my station console!" That came from the helmsman, who had managed to return to his position after a series of carefully coordinated push-offs from the walls and ceiling. "I'm getting no response from impulse, maneuvering thrusters, or slipstream engines! A command from an unknown origin was also sent to initiate a rapid thrust maneuver just before we lost main power, sir!"

That would certainly explain the painful greeting Taeskea had with the ceiling moments ago.

"Admiral... the tactical station is locked out as well," another crewman reported with clear alarm. "I have no weapons or shields, sir... we're a sitting duck!"

One by one, reports came in from each bridge station. Environment controls were down, including artificial gravity... which was quite obvious. They had no communications; no main power... hell, nothing was operational. The Heleos class carrier, the pride of the Domain fleet, had been reduced into naught but a floating hunk of metal.

In horror, Admiral Taeskea turned his attention out the main bridge window, to see a nearby cruiser, the Ulaform, flying out of control just before his carrier. Both the forward and reverse main impulse engines were alight on the two stubby nacelles mounted to her port and starboard sides, causing the warship to gradually spin on all three of her rotational axis. Slowly the massive hull drifted downward from the admiral's perspective, toward another battle cruiser, the Lorayth, which had been orbiting parallel with her sister ship as escorts for the carrier. The Lorayth was clearly in distress as well, illustrated by the lack of running lights illuminating her hull.

What the hell was happening to his fleet?!

The commanding drala held his breath as he watched the two vessels converge.

In a sickening quiet, the cruisers impacted along their forward hull segments, the carnage silenced by the void of space. At once the outer armor plating of both ships yielded to the astronomical force of the collision, buckling hull compartments while several lateral mounted weapon turrets were sheared off. Both vessels shuttered violently from the impact, as the strain imparted on their superstructures damaged critical systems throughout the ships.

Taeskea couldn't believe what he was witnessing... he just couldn't look away from the disaster.

After what seemed like an eternity, the momentum of the collision slowly pushed the two crippled starships apart. The Lorayth now sported a nasty open gash along her lateral hull surface, the outer plating peeled back to expose several compartments that had been ripped open into the vacuum of space. The Ulaform had fared no better, as her hull vented a copious amount of atmosphere from the deep indentation pocked on her starboard side. However, both vessels soon rotated out of the admiral's view, since his ship had continued a gradual spin downward after the initial errant thrust maneuver.

Taeskea cringed as he realized drala had certainly lost their lives just now... right before his eyes. Some of the debris floating away from the scene was without doubt unfortunate crew members of both starships.

He shoved the dismal thought aside. With vehemence the commanding drala pushed himself around in the null gravity toward his crew, before singling out several individuals with a point of his finger. "Get down to engineering right away and coordinate to get the ship back online!"

The three drala crewman wordlessly acknowledged his order, before hurriedly turning to push off for the doorway leading out to the corridor behind the bridge. Some initial fumbling resulted, as the flustered drala worked to pry open the doorway manually... however the obstacle was soon overcome.

Meanwhile, the admiral began assigning damage assessment teams. While not entirely obvious, he was almost sure this was the preamble to the Federation's anticipated counteroffensive. It was a good bet that the entire fleet had been crippled by this mysterious attack, although he couldn't be sure given the state of his flagship. How his adversary had managed to deal such a crippling blow Taeskea did not know. Their method for throwing his forces off guard had been quite unforeseen, forcing the admiral on the defensive. It was not a position Taeskea wanted to be in... but for the moment the cards were not in his favor.

"First things first... I have to get the fleet back in order..."

***************

04:10 am... it was time...

With authority Captain Rubin thumbed a channel for ship-wide broadcast, before raising the captain's hand-held intercom up to speak.

"Fire Number 1..."

In the weapons compartment, the words hung heavy in the air for an infinite second... until the Weapons Officer squeezed his index finger firmly against the firing trigger he held.

At that instant in time, a control wire was immediately disconnected from SLBM Number 1 inside the vertical launch tube, severing the missile's link to the USS Maryland. The weapon was now in a full autonomous setting.

Simultaneously, in a separate container alongside the vertical launch tube, an explosive charge detonated. The resulting fiery blast of the detonation was quickly directed into a water tank, causing the liquid to flash-vaporize into a powerful burst of superheated steam.

Now retaining an incredible burst of kinetic potential, the pulse of steam pressure swiftly progressed into the missile tube itself, building pressure quickly behind the SLBM housed inside. Within seconds, the pressure overcame the deadweight of the missile bus, causing the weapon to suddenly rise upward out of the tube, breaching the foam-like isolation material above.

All throughout the submarine, an incredible rush of noise from the explosion and subsequent flux of steam announced the firing of SLBM Number 1, while the hull shook slightly under the strain of the launch. The sensation was absolutely unreal to the crew of the Maryland; they had been through countless trials and drills simulating a release of strategic arms... however this... was the real thing.

Once clear of the submarine hull, the Trident II SLBM continued its upward surge through the ocean water, riding on a wave of steam pressure up to the surface above. The weapon was now fully unleashed and self-directed.

In a violent splash of water, the missile bus breached the ocean surface in quite the spectacular fashion mere moments after clearing the Maryland... emerging out into the utter darkness of night. What upward momentum had was now lost, while for a brief moment the weapon seemed to hang in midair only a few feet above the waves. Just as gravity again began to take hold, inertial sensors onboard quickly detected downward acceleration and sent a signal to the missile's propulsion systems.

The SLBM's first stage solid rocket motor suddenly ignited in a flurry of intense flame, which quickly extended downward to splay out across the water surface below. The abrupt onset of upward thrust quickly overcame the deadweight of the weapon, thus allowing the three stage missile to again achieve upward momentum.

For a brief moment, the onboard navigation overcorrected the orientation of the SLBM, causing the nose to swing low from a true rocket trajectory... before adjustments were made to the rocket exhaust nozzle orientation to rapidly straighten things out.

Now aligned on the proper course and direction, the Trident missile swiftly accelerated away from the ocean surface, clawing for altitude while an aerospike deployed on the nose cone to reduce aerodynamic drag. Belching a thick stream of crimson flame in the dead of night, accompanied by the distinct deep throaty rumble of a solid rocket booster, the weapon now reached up toward the stars, ready to bring the fight to the enemy.

"Number 1 away," the Weapons Officer proclaimed over the ship's PA system.

Ian didn't miss a beat as he continued to hold the intercom in his hand firmly. "Fire Number 2..."

***************

Activity on the bridge was absolute chaos, while the Rodaunm continued to drift lifelessly above planet Earth in a slow awkward rotation. For the moment, Admiral Taeskea elected to remain off to the side near the massive forward facing window, allowing the carrier's captain to assume command of the crisis after he had stumbled onto the bridge in naught but his underclothing. Taeskea didn't care to reproach the commanding drala for his dress, given that the captain had been literally thrown out of bed by the initial malfunction of the artificial gravity and maneuvering thruster systems.

Looking out the bridge window, Admiral Taeskea's view was currently dominated by the stunning beauty of planet Earth. Despite the chaos around him, the drala allowed himself a brief moment to marvel at the planet's splendor. To think that this humble little world was the main reason behind a war on such a grand scale. Taeskea had to sigh deeply as he remembered that it was his sole obligation to defend this very world from the Federation counterattack. There was no telling how many lives would be lost as a result. Nevertheless, he couldn't dwell on that fact... the admiral had to keep his focus on maintaining the fleet and the invasion initiative, lest those that depended on him lose their lives needlessly.

Communications had been established rather quickly with the other vessels of the starship cluster around the carrier, although this was only possible through an antiquated line-of-sight system using flashing strobe lights. Admiral Taeskea still could not contact the bulk of his fleet, thus rendering his defensive strategy moot. Before he could coordinate matters to meet the Federation advance, Taeskea first had to get his own forces back into order.

The admiral continued to look out the bridge window, while he let matters unfold behind in the meantime. He couldn't do much else for the moment. Gazing down on the planet below, Taeskea could make out a cluster of supply vessels orbiting underneath his starship.

Drifting lifelessly about in a lower orbit under the warships, the unarmed spacecraft were relatively well protected against an attack from any Federation forces. In the event of an assault, the warships would engage the enemy first, allowing the supporting starships to slip away. It was the best way that the admiral could defend his more vulnerable assets... as long as the attack didn't come from the planet below.

Taeskea had recently begun to question his defensive strategy though, in light of the surprise attack by a single Federation starship two days prior. The vessel had literally appeared out of thin air, rising up from the planet's surface abruptly, catching the admiral completely off guard. Sure, he had known that his adversary probably had a contingent of personnel on Earth. But, he had not expected such a starship to appear and completely destroy two capital warships of his fleet outright, before disappearing into slipstream like a ghost.

The loss of life from the assault had been great, deeply troubling Taeskea at his failure to prevent such a disaster. How the enemy had slipped between his fingers was a mystery; yet, there was nothing the commanding drala could do now. At least it appeared the Federation had elected to evacuate its forces from Earth. That was certainly one less problem he had to deal with... at the expense of two valuable starships and countless personnel. Not a fitting trade by any means, and one that would surely haunt Taeskea for some time to come.

At that instant, a sudden bright flash caught the admiral's attention, breaking his train of thought.

What the hell was that?!

***************

SLBM Number 1 careened downrange at over 13,000 mph, having just ignited the missile's third stage. Now operating on star-sighting guidance, the weapon aligned itself on the trajectory outlined by Lumina's guidance program, bringing the warhead closer to the designated target as the atmosphere rapidly peeled back to reveal the vacuum of space. Trailing behind the first missile was that of the remaining 23, all currently rising up from the planet toward differing targets all across low Earth orbit.

Having managed to launch her entire complement of strategic arms in only a few minutes, the USS Maryland had not wasted any time diving back down to the relative safety of the murky ocean depths, where Captain Rubin planned to hide while he let his MOSS decoys provide enticing targets for any enemies that showed up. However, the countermeasure would prove unneeded.

The human crew had played their pivotal role... now the fight was left up to the Federation.

Still speeding downrange, the on-board guidance system of SLBM Number 1 continued to arc the weapon's path almost parallel to Earth's surface below. The objective was to achieve as close to simultaneous detonation of all 24 warheads as possible. Thus, the first salvo of missiles unleashed had been instructed to fly downrange toward points further away from the sub's position, while the guidance target grew closer for each subsequent launch.

The result was a fan of missile trails that spread out across the Atlantic, with several weapons traversing off westward, as others arced off to the east. There was no mistaking that such a violent event would be detected by the Domain fleet orbiting above; however, Lumina's handiwork continued to provide a chaotic veil of concealment for both the Maryland and her SLBMs. Not a single drala starship noticed the approaching destruction until far too late.

After only a few minutes of flight, missile Number 1 achieved weightlessness. Now with the third stage completely expended, the guidance software activated an ejection charge, which shoved the spent rocket motor out the hollow center of the equipment module containing the actual warhead. Now divested of all booster staging, the weapon was free to finish navigating toward its final position.

With only several seconds until detonation, the guidance software commanded the payload module to rotate upward, bringing the nose cone back up into a vertical position in relation to the surface below, through careful applications of maneuvering thrusters. The human-built systems had successfully brought the missile to the predetermined coordinates... now it was up to the Federation modifications to finish the deadly job.

Employing a concept similar to that used for starship faster-than-light travel, the Conical Slipstream Fragmentation Munition currently mounted to the equipment module of the SLBM was a deadly feat of innovation and design. The weapon's classification was that of a MDSA, or mass destruction strategic arms, thus heavily restricting its use in times of war... however, the gloves had come off for the Federation. There would be no pulled punches... not now.

At precisely 04:13:27 am, an activation signal was sent to the warhead, initiating the violent detonation process.

The weapon, as a whole, consisted of five halos arranged in a conical pattern around the inner circumference of the equipment housing. Upon activation, the rings began to spin in counter rotating fashion, forcing energy to be woven into the hollow center where the third stage booster had previously been. The resulting unstable lace of energy generated was then rapidly channeled along the centerline of each halo, before becoming concentrated down into a single infinitesimally small focal point forward of the weapon.

Only half a second from the initial activation signal, the series of revolving rings had spun up to maximum RPM in a blur of motion. With the weapon now primed, several capacitors discharged into the slipstream matrix, forcing the unstable thread of energy to form and compress down... the precursor to the weapon's detonation.

Quickly the unstable mass of energy grew, still fed by the slipstream matrix... until...

The fabric of space was suddenly and violently torn open in a blinding flash of light, consuming the equipment module as all matter in the immediate vicinity was ripped apart. With the weapon assembly suddenly destroyed as an expected outcome of the violent event, the rift torn into subspace collapsed into itself, before rapidly expanding outward in a conical pattern away from the planet below.

The distortion in subspace continued to grow and propagate, while the only visible trace of the expanding wave was marked by a bending of light as it progressed away from Earth. Through open space the surge traversed, before abruptly coming into contact with numerous Domain supply and troop transport ships drifting in low Earth orbit.

Still disabled by Lumina's electronic attack, each vessel impacted by the distortion wave stood no chance of survival without shields to mitigate damage.

The destruction that resulted was devastating... and without mercy.

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The initial point of brilliant light was joined by several others, each spread out below Taeskea's point of view, while the carrier bridge remained angled down toward the surface for the moment. Something was very wrong here.

Before the commanding drala could discern what the origin of the mysterious flashes were, the sources of light abruptly winked out of existence, leaving him to wonder just what had transpired.

Was the Federation attacking? No... that couldn't be it. The relatively small explosions, from what Taeskea could distinguish, where far apart and far below any orbiting Domain starships. Perhaps several weapons had accidentally been fired when the fleet was disabled... wait a moment...

Admiral Taeskea's eyes widened in absolute horror... his view of the planet below was suddenly skewed as light was warped and twisted right before the drala's astonished gaze. The distortion rapidly expanded, seeming to sweep outward from where the light sources had originated... Mother of God! These were Slipstream Fragmentation Weapons!

The admiral's horrifying revelation was immediately confirmed as the first of 24 shockwaves reached the leading infantry transport ship of the nearest formation. The vessel was absolutely defenseless.

As the wave of unstable space slammed into the unprotected metal of the outer hull, the atomic makeup of the metal alloy was instantly compromised. All across the exterior, extremely powerful forces ripped and tugged violently on the starship, decompiling metallic bonds... ultimately destabilizing the structural integrity of bulkheads and key structural components.

Before the outer hull even began to tear itself apart, the shockwave continued to spread through the starship interior relentlessly. Anything and everything that came into contact with the subspace ripple was mercilessly ripped apart on the atomic level; electrical systems, cargo holds, equipment consoles... and the crew and troop passengers themselves... all were obliterated in the blink of an eye. Meanwhile, the starship's fate was already sealed, as the wave reached the first of the vessel's four plasma cores... undermining the various safety measures keeping the volatile reaction rate in check.

The compartmentalized hull of the troop transport suddenly became enveloped in a devastating explosion, the vessel's outline quickly shrouded by the fiery blast as her hull buckled in fragmented shards of twisted metal. Taeskea inhaled sharply with horror, just as the vessel's remaining cores ruptured concurrently immediately thereafter, obliterating the ship and anything else nearby instantly. For the crew, there was no surviving that.

From there the destruction only spread, with each hapless starship caught up in the distortion literally ripping itself apart, before either a stockpile of weapons destabilized and detonated or a plasma core breached catastrophically. What remained of the human satellite network also fell victim to the weapon's deadly potency, as the orbiting platforms literally evaporated into dust particles. Even the tangled remains of the ISS were not spared.

All across Earth's horizon, horrendous blotches of light cascaded outward toward the stars, announcing the deaths of countless starships to Taeskea's alarmed perspective high above... yet, the Rodaunm was not out of danger herself. Suddenly comprehending this, the admiral had no time to utter a word of warning, before the distortion wave impacted the carrier's hull violently.

There was confusion... disorientation... his awareness briefly closed into a dark void.

For a fleeting moment, Taeskea could not render a thought in his mind.

Yet... gradually his consciousness fought to reassert itself.

He felt himself begin to panic... was he going to die?! The world around Taeskea was dark, frightening... he had no notion of where he was... or what had happened. Why could he not see?! Why could he not feel his body?! The strangeness and oddity were perplexing... until the drala's vision slowly began to return.

At first everything was merely a blur, which alarmed Taeskea greatly. Soon though, his sight came back into focus, while the admiral felt his awareness return to something resembling normal.

He found himself still floating about in the null gravity of the ship's bridge, his gaze turned toward the bridge window and the carnage that continued to unfold beyond the glass... and then his hearing returned, causing panic to once again seize Taeskea.

The starship groaned ominously as the bulkheads and hull shuddered from the powerful stresses imparted by the passing distortion wave. The dreadful creaking of fatigued metal reverberated throughout the bridge, causing Taeskea to wince with each loud pop or bang he heard. A starship should not make such noises... not when the very lives of its occupants rested squarely on the airtight integrity of the superstructure. Silently the drala willed his ship to hold together.

As the Rodaunm continued to judder worryingly, Taeskea managed to turn his attention to the crew around him. Most had been knocked unconscious, although, a few seemed to be regaining their senses. Bodies and debris floated everywhere in a confusing mess. One particular individual, the starship's captain, drifted slowly toward the forward window of the compartment. Taeskea did not expect what happened next.

He grimaced as the drala's unconscious form bounced forcefully off the glass, resulting in a series of loud sharp reports... the unmistakable sound of a fragile material splintering. At that moment a large crack appeared along the window, flowing completely across the pane from one corner to the other. The admiral waited with sudden bated breath for the glass to completely shatter, which would undoubtedly kill everyone within the compartment since the emergency backup system was not operable to prevent depressurization.

Thankfully the window held as the horrendous creaking of fragmenting glass ceased. On closer inspection, the transparent material didn't appear to be compromised. What cracking that had developed was quickly covered by a hardening resin, which had been laced within the hollow center of the window to provide an extra layer of protection in the event the pane's structural integrity failed. With that enormous relief, came a startling question.

Why did the glass crack?! The transparent material of the window was specially crafted with interwoven strengthening agents, the sealing resin being one such measure, to harden against fatigue cracking or catastrophic shattering. Nothing short of an impact from a plasma weapon blast would compromise the integrity of the window... so why had the simple act of the captain's body hitting the pane almost resulted in such a disastrous failure of the transparent material?

The answer was both simple, and horrifying at the same time... the distortion wave. While Taeskea didn't understand all of the physics involved with the Federation's sinister weapon, he did retain enough knowledge to understand that the resulting pulse of unstable space had the potential to significantly weaken the strength of material, if not completely destroy it on an atomic level.

Realization unexpectedly dawned on Taeskea... that very same pulse had passed through him! In a rush, the drala felt along his body, only to discover that for all intents and purposes he was still in one piece. That was certainly astonishing ... and an immense relief.

The dynamics of slipstream mechanics were rather random, to say the least. The admiral knew he would never fully understand why the window had been so drastically affected, while he had not... aside from the overwhelming wave of nausea. Given the circumstances though, he'd take all the luck he could get.

As the crew tried to recover, Admiral Taeskea allowed himself to once again look out the now splintered window of his warship. The Rodaunm was still angled with her bow pointed down toward the planet surface below, permitting the drala to glimpse the destruction wrought upon his fleet.

From his vantage point, starship hull fragments and debris littered the region of space below the carrier, where only moments ago the cluster of unarmed support ships had once been. Unknown to Taeskea, the attack had focused solely on his supply convoy. Consequently, the brunt of the distortion wave had been generated parallel to the planet surface below in a wide conical pattern, effectively sparing the warships in higher orbit from major damage.

The carnage imparted by the onslaught of 24 concurrent slipstream detonations had covered roughly half of the planet's orbital region, vastly crippling the supporting infrastructure for the Domain fleet.

Taeskea didn't know what to do. The Federation had struck with horrifying effectiveness, destroying countless starships in the blink of an eye. This assault had come out of nowhere, and he had no idea how to respond... no, he had to assume command... he had to get the situation back under his control as soon as possible.

There would be time to grieve for the dead later... and time to reflect on his utter failure to prevent such a catastrophe. Yet, now he still had a sizable armada of warships at his command that required leadership.

"I need this ship operational right away!" The admiral commanded with renewed fervor, catching his crew's attention. "This is only the beginning of the Federation attack!"