Tag: Space

Bonus Poem: To Your Ship and Yourself…

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Through the stars and back again,
my flight assist my only companion,
her growl is smooth like satin and silk,
while her dual sustained-lasers murder bountiful ilk.

They call her a cobra, mark-3, type of plane,
but I call her a ship, one with no name.
She and I understanding that tame,
has no honest place in the bounty-hunt game.

Through sol-type stars do we scoop,
hydrogen-elemental fuel as we loop,
with thrusters at minimum super cruise,
Oh how the stars shift to streams of white hues.

When it comes time to collect our reward,
we break for the nearest place to starboard,
then charge the frame-shift for a nominal horde,
of power and thrust, and navigation on-board.

Then orbiting nowhere in the middle of space,
she and I set down at the landing place,
to collect bounties, ammunition, cargo and fuel
we correct, re-outfit, repair and retool.

With a slow vert-motion, we rise,
into heavenly, star-brightened skies,
where once again we will hear lies,
from pirates and smugglers, governments we despise.

And if in a moment of weakness we sit,
in the vacuum of space beaten to a pulpit,
re-start her engines, I do it real quick,
for the canopy’s blown but I’ve still got the stick.

When at last her engines ignite,
her dashboard comes on ready for flight,
I pull out the stops and fly her just right,
to the nearest space station with all of my might.

Nothing could ever be quite so satisfying,
as when in my ship it and I are two, flying,
so take heed when I say these words to you too,
“To your ship and yourself, always be true.”

Poetry-Thing Thursday: Need That I Mention

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

Write words,
sing songs,
pen sonnets,
live long.

The rest,
is perilous,
filled with dread,
that’s vacuous.

Shallow in mind?
Broaden the spirit,
seek the sky,
learn to live within it

Reach for the stars,
jump for the moon.
Rocket to Venus,
or Mars’ subway’s a boon.

Depth-less black,
of countless dimensions,
I live in them all,
need that I mention?

Earth’s no bore,
but neither’s the sky,
two ladies forever,
bound to comply,

with the whims of a universe,
I wish I could convey,
How grand it would be
if on Earth we didn’t stay.

But such is our nature,
that we must remember,
to take things a step at a time,
lest ourselves and our dreams we endanger.

Short Story: The Great Sphere

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

The construction of the Great Sphere began with little ceremony. The few that had heard of the project felt it would never be completed, let alone serve its rather grand function. Admittedly, I too was on the fence, though I proposed the project to Congress, then later, the United Nations, European Union, and finally NATO. The last of these organizations, the North Atlantic Treaty Organization, formed by several, powerful governments in the Northern Hemisphere, and with an army all its own, gave a home to my designs.

Granted, those original blue-prints were less than stellar, if you pardon the pun, I was certain they were our best hope. Given the news that daily bled from NASA’s public comm-channels, it was also our only hope. I remember watching the first ship that launched from Canaveral. Just after dawn the air is quiet, pristine. That day there was a nip to the air, it forced to huddle myself into my jacket, warm my hands with steaming breath. Even then I knew the fire in my heart would blaze when the launch counter reached zero.

When zero arrived, the sight struck me first. An emblazoned dart propelled itself spaceward with a fearsome, immolated tail. As I gathered my wits to draw my next breath, the sound enveloped me. It was something like the fireworks I saw as a boy but longer, louder, of more girth. Though they’ve long since been banned at the fears of resistance groups, there was something spectacular about them. The cry of a rocket is a long, dulcet growl that softens and broadens the further you get from it. Even so, those that watched were lump-throated together.

That rocket, Lazarus I, both reignited our space-fairing ventures, and sealed our fates in stone. The first of the Lazarus payloads contained the gravity generators and miniature, atmospheric barriers required to begin welding the initial frame together. Initially, this was accomplished by robotic drones remotely controlled from Canaveral’s command center. They were primitive now, as we look back, no different than our last few unmanned excursions to Mars, only differing in their instruments and intended application. I was on-hand for the first welds that took place from those robotic arms. Blue sparks of light that glowed against the blackness of space just outside the thin, opaque membrane of the atmospheric bubbles.

While it worked away at the corner weld of two, massive steal beams. All the while in the control room, the technicians hammered at their keys, scratched equations on notebooks, crumpled failed thoughts, and smoothed out the last, few kinks the system had presented once deployed. We all suspected things would need to be ironed out once activated, but even at that we’d so well exceeded our expectations.

To those great men and women there, the offer of my eternal gratitude could never be understated. Though it was NATO that initially approved and funded the project, it was those gentle, highly-intelligent souls that made the Sphere possible. Were it not for their sacrifices, largely personal of course, I believe human history may have never continued– or at least would have done so in a vein that would have casually seen its end.

Instead, the first welds went in to place, then the seconds. More still came with the launches of Lazarus II &III, and by the time Lazarus IV was launched, the Sphere had begun to take shape. It sat between us and the sun, situated just so as to orbit it and us in an ellipse. Though it was difficult to see at night, in day, the incomplete husk of the Sphere loomed near enough to cast shadows on certain structures. When later it was completed, it became as a nearby star might.

It is the most magnificent feeling to see one’s vision complete, but no more humbling than when its purpose is finally revealed to the world, and its inspirational symphony plays out across the emptiness of space– both for all to hear, and none.

Though public perception was against The Sphere at first, when next they heard the leaks of NASA’s comms, it shifted. Collectively, the public learned that NASA’s deep-space monitors had been tracking a possible threat. Imagine if, in a moment’s breath, a pandemonium erupted all over the globe, spurned by the ultimate terror a human can experience. Only if this image is then multiplied ten-fold on itself could one’s mind even begin to approach the chaos that ensued.

The first days were the worst, I believe. It was as if the world stopped all at once. All those whom we relied upon to clean our trash, service our engines, and infinitely more than I can think to name, relinquished their posts. They fled, en-masse, home to their loved ones to comfort and cower with them. Some shook with terror or grief beneath any thing that hid them from view of the sky. Others still became consumed with the nihilism that one so bitter-sweetly experiences when faced with their own, imminent demise. I do not blame them. Were I not so consumed with my own work and vision, I’d have just as soon joined them.

But the Great Sphere is curious in its affect on man, woman, and child. When first its distant lights were lit to test its power, all those hidden away or absorbed by their fears, looked upward. A billion, distant service-lights blurred into one. The Great Sphere pulsed nearer Earth than not in its orbit.

With a cool, blue glow, the hearts of adult and child alike were soothed. But a most wonderful thing happened in those hearts too, as if a switch had been thrown on all human kind at once: fear no longer existed. Not truly. Minor fears were still present of course, but fear is interesting in its effects as well. It would seem as predictably chaotic as fear can make the mind, so too when it is overcome does a certain peace of mind descend. That peace engulfed the people, formed of the confidence they once more had in their place in the universe.

Curious though it was, the light of The Sphere led to the mass enlistment of men and women that wished to take residence there. Mechanics, technicians, security and others lined the halls of recruitment centers, each of them certain their future lay in the embrace of The Sphere. Because of it, construction was completed far ahead of schedule, and when our adversary came from the furthest stars, we were well-prepared.

Broadcasts of intention were received and decoded with bated breath. Until then we could not have known if they were friend or foe, but the latter was most plausible given their bearing. They had launched from distant reaches of space’s horizon with a seeming armada whose swiftness could not be matched. Until then, we had never seen true space-ships. Our rockets were primitive in comparison, ancient Greece’s javelins to our modern day cruise-missiles. While our engineers have since made that point moot, it was clear on their arrival that our visitors were no friends to us. Our own intent to stand our ground was made as transparent as the most pure crystal when those first responses were encoded back to them.

For a brief moment, salvos of lightning and insta-freezed vapor glowed in the sky with the silent gatling of lasers. Collectively, the world watched as those brave men and women aboard the Great Sphere readied to fight or die. But as I had hoped, planned, envisioned, the fusion-charged, opaque shields activated and disintegrated any attempts on the Sphere.

As if they sensed they had bitten off more than their inhuman mouths could chew, the would-be invaders turned their sights toward Earth. Fighters launched by the hundreds for the surface while the vain bombardment continued on the Sphere’s shields. The scream of foreign engines swept the top-most reaches of our atmosphere, some silenced from poor entry-calculations alone. We’ve begun to believe these failures suggest where-ever these attackers’ knew nothing of the detriments of the angles to our atmosphere.

Even more fighters were lost to our guided-missiles. We tracked their approach via satellite imagery and digital spotting. When finally in range, SAM sites all over the world launched fearsome rockets by the thousands. Our atmosphere thickened in their wake, fogged by the impetus of a war meant to be decisively won. All across the globe, the missile’s detonations split the air with gusto. Those ships never stood a chance. All that remained after the attack was what refused to be consumed by the fires of victory.

Explosions blanketed the skies of Earth and the foreground of space beyond it, the latter silent as the Sphere whose weapons had yet to finish their first, true charge-cycle. They deployed, invisible to any whom knew not where to look or were too distant to see them. I imagine those cruiser-class and Colony vessels would never have made such a lengthy trek had they known what was in store for them.

The first weapons to come online were the rail-guns. Their targeting parameters were set for the Colony ships– the least armed of the rival fleet. Over twenty-thousand rounds of shrapnel per minute were expended from each of four guns in over a thousand batteries around the Sphere’s exterior. Each with its own, three-hundred and sixty-degree view of its surroundings, the rail-guns were no match for even the most experienced of their pilots. Even then, the Sphere was so adequately armed, that their placement through-out the entirety of the structure made easy prey of those few ships. I believe, in all, five Colony ships were cut down in the first moments of our counter-attack.

Just as the last of the Colony ships went down, the rail-guns re-fixed their aim on the cruisers. Their salvos and lasers were answered with the silent call of our own Plasma cannons. As with the rail-guns, their numbers were more than sufficient to do the job. Countless balls of red-violet streaked effortlessly through the vacuum of space, cut through cruisers and stray fighters alike. The rail-guns hammered along to bludgeon their message home, add a final insult to the armada’s fatal injury.

In what was mere moments, the battle commenced and finished, the threat eliminated. We had waited life-times to know for certain that life existed elsewhere. Then, we waited years to meet it face-to-face. When the time came and our hearts sank at the forthcoming battle, it passed nearly instantaneously with us as the victors. When NASA’s comm chatters first leaked, we bit our nails in agitation. When we learned of their violent intent on-arrival, our guns were readied and our hearts were heavy. Once the smoke cleared however, we learned we were a force– a species– not to be taken lightly, no matter how we appeared. More importantly, we learned that the Great Sphere would be our protector no matter the battles to come.

I, as its creator was awarded the highest of honors. But now we all stand, ever vigilant, with our eyes on the space’s horizons. There with fire in our hearts, we thank the Great Sphere’s guardianship as if it is a deity. In a way it is; one that has allowed us to begin a new chapter in human history, rather than pen its epilogue with our blood.

Band of the Red: Part 6

~ S.M. Nolan ~ Leave a comment

6.

THE GRINDING HALT

When First returned, Second and I met secretly with him. He detested our ideas; he was a Federation soldier through blood and soul. After hours of convincing, and more than a few blade-wielded threats, he listened to the story of Sir’s betrayal. At the idea that his beloved Federation would murder to cover its misdeeds, he relented.

Regardless of his loyalties, he admitted a serious reticence to the Federation and Mustela’s handling of things. “The Federation has too much power now,” he said. “Those in command are now hungry for more, unsure of how to handle the problems they’ve created. All of this began over a simple matter of coin, and now it has escalated to full, galactic war.”

Second reassured him, “And that was never what the Federation, nor the Council, were given power to do.”

It was true too, neither of these entities had been created to allow minor factions to cause chaos through-out the Galaxy. In point of fact, the opposite was their purpose– to swat down those that attempted to and preserve peace. Instead, The Federation’s politics had ensured their resources could one day lead the Mustela to victory. Unfortunately, war does not end with one side proclaiming victory. It takes years of devolution to skirmishes, hit-and-runs, and feuding systems before it fades for good. And that is if it does not flare up again. What we needed was an abrupt resolution, the grinding halt as it were.

We approached Sharok carefully, at a time when she would be most docile– just after a victory from some of First’s most recent intelligence. It seemed the most fitting; we had given her something and now she would honor us with the gratitude of an audience.

Second gave word to the guards to dismiss them. We waited for them to join the festivities down the hall from Sharok’s door, then entered single-file. Sharok sat in the middle of the room at her desk, her feet up, and a glass of liquor in her hand in triumph. Second and I waited beside one another as First closed the door behind us.

She sipped lightly, motioned us forward in good humor, “Either there is to be a coup, or the three of you have something to say.”

Second stepped forward to speak– she was, after all, Sharok’s right hand. She glanced at First, “Lock the door, please.”

“Something on your mind, Kadè?” Sharok asked with Second’s nickname.

“Yes, my friend, you need to know of a deception against you.” She paused for a reaction. Sharok gave only a sip from her drink. Second hung her head, as if ashamed. In truth, I believe she was preparing herself for battle. She spoke with that same gentle comfort I had heard in her quarters, “We three have been sent here.”

“Sent, Kadè? By who?” Sharok asked, her tone never changing.

“The Federation,” I replied.

“Khie’Yen!”

In one lightning move, she had leapt and flipped through the air. Her glass hit Second’s face, her blades drawn at First and I. We anticipated her, dodged to either side. We each grabbed a wrist as she landed and disarmed her. She lifted a leg to kick First, jolted me sideways. Second was on her with a hard kick to the back of her knee. First and I followed through to force her arms ’round, and Second shoved her to the floor.

She pinned Sharok’s head against the ancient stone, whispered as a snake might, “If I had come to kill you, my friend, I would have done so whilst you slept. Your show of strength has been bested, and now you will adhere to the code, and listen.”

Sharok spit obscenities against the floor, but relented, “Then release me and speak.”

First and I retrieved Sharok’s blades from the floor. Second released her. They were both immediately up. A tense silence fell over the room. Sharok’s arms crossed at her chest. First and I stood firm with her blades in-hand, while Second began to tell of the Einheit; our elaborate hoaxes, our mission, our recruiters and their betrayal, and our present plans.

Sharok took it at first with the snarl that one who has been betrayed might, but it soon faltered. In truth, none of us had ever put the Band in any danger, and for her to believe otherwise was to dishonor us. Moreover, for her to believe the Band could truly be endangered dishonored its ways as a whole. It was with this creeping realization that she began to settle.

She sank against her desk, leaning with her arms crossed, to take things as a strategist might. Second emphasized that our orders were never to harm herself nor the Order, and that we had in-fact, brought about many more deaths to our own side in order to protect it.

She then relayed the perceived failure of the Einheit, “Only two of us returned with the training; Third and Fourth. Both are now imprisoned and under investigation. No-one within the Federation nor the Mustela has received instruction. If Sir’s betrayal is an inclination of things to come, none should ever receive it.”

Sharok asked a sensible question then, “What do you seek of me then?”

First relayed our feelings, “An end to this war, a just end.”

I added, “Where no side has any more advantage than the other. Until now you have not dealt in sides, only coin. But you have the resources to end this.”

“I did not start this war,” she reminded.

“No,” I agreed. “But your honor is at stake because of it.”

This gave her cause for alarm.

You see, when the Lord Verbero’s army began their hit-and-runs, her own people were aboard the ships to provide protection for the intervening trade-routes. While we in the Einheit knew they were unconnected with the attacks, the Galaxy at-large did not. The reason for their neutrality was even simpler than honor; Sharok took no-sides and her people followed her orders alone. It was the sole reason why much of the ground-fighting had ended in stalemate; the Band members refused to fight. However, only the most perceptive of Galactic citizens could ever recognize this. As such, the Band’s honor was at stake if Sharok did nothing.

At this she sensed that, though we needed her, she needed us more.

This revelation was clear in her face as she spoke with stratagem on her tongue, “In order to bring about our way of end to the war, several things need to happen. Each of the factions involved must become leaderless. This means Lord Verbero, the Mustela representative and The Federation’s Council must all be eliminated at once.” This was the simple part, we all knew, and she continued to this effect, “Lords and politicians sleep in grandiose rooms with high-walls and windows. It provides a false sense of security. These designs are perfect for well-trained Band assassins.”

We agreed. She immediately sent word for her best assassins to be assembled in her quarters. It became cramped in the room. I have no hesitation in admitting discomfort in a roomful of assassins. These men and women might as well have been eunuchs; everything but their eyes were shrouded by black cloth, the only color that of the Red Band on their biceps and the sheathed blades at their back.

Sharok spoke in great detail, but with paradoxically few words; the assassins would preform their jobs on a single night, synchronized across systems to cause a unanimous chaos among the three factions. None of them would recover fast enough for the next phase of our plan to begin. New lords and politicians could arise in time, but the rest of us would ensure their impotence.

I watched Gal-Net’s reporters, in terror, relay the mass of assassinations that had taken place. The remaining Einheit members sharpened our blades beside Sharok. As it stood, the Band had more than enough members to carry out the next phase with similar synchronicity. However, allowing them adequate time to return home seemed near-impossible.

We would render the largest fleets, and most dangerous ships, inert. Or, in other words, blow them out of the sky. It could be done, Sharok assured us, but it would have to be done right.

The Mustela were the easiest target with the fewest ships. At that they had but a handful of cruiser-class ships– mid-range escorts with fighter-defense weapons. The Verbero too had few cruisers, but countless frigates. These cargo haulers were no match for any skilled pilot in an attack-class fighter. Fortunately, the Band occupied most of them, and only a single command was needed for their crews to be eliminated and the ships commandeered.

The main brunt of the Band then, would have to target the Federation’s ships– invariably the largest concentration of cruiser-classes. The greatest obstacle would be the flagships. These were six times the size of a normal cruiser with the capacity of roughly a metropolitan city. It wouldn’t be terribly hard to destroy them along with the others, but it seemed a waste. Sharok and I agreed on this point, but First and Second questioned what to do with them.

“We take three,” Sharok said with confidence. “All at once. Destroy the rest.”

“How do you suppose we do that?” First asked, dumbfounded.

“Sneak aboard the Bridge, seal it off, and vent the ship into space.”

It was cold, elegant, and simple. Getting aboard and taking the Bridge wouldn’t be difficult for any Band-member, let alone the four of us. Even venting the ship wasn’t too bad an idea.

Second spoke, “It seems a needless waste of life, my friend.”

Sharok revised her assessment, “Then seal the Bridge with a five minute-warning to the crew.”

It was settled. We had the plan in place. All that was left was to tie-up loose ends.

“What about territory?” Sharok asked.

“Leave it,” I said. “We don’t want control, just peace. If any side tries to chase us down, we take it piece-by-piece until they calm themselves.”

Sharok agreed.

For one, single moment, the stars were like fire-flies in our hands. We executed the plan with over a thousand Band-members. In one hour the Band of the Red altered the entire course of the Galaxy. Frigates were emptied of Verbero, their bodies torn asunder by blades while blood splattered their cock-pits. Cruisers detonated remotely from triggers in Band-members hands as they made for safety. Flagships burned over the skies of dozens of planets with nary a fighter launched. And in the chaos, Sharok and the three of us claimed our three ships.

We gave our five minutes of warning, then with reverie in our eyes, vented the ships. I stood a the large command console with that reverie, and entered in the course on the holographic display. Even at the jolt of hyper-jump, I stood firm, staring out on the emptiness before me. Each of us began the long series of jumps back home as whatever bodies did not escape were blown out into space to drift forevermore among the stars.

Such was the way it went; simple, elegant.

When the time came for Gal-Net’s daily reports, the death tolls were astounding, but the war was ended. A single act of defiant honor was carried out with professional skill, and moral conviction. And without the Council, the Mustela representative, or Lord Verbero to guide them, the three factions were in utter despair. With no fleets left to launch in anger or retaliation, the systems went silent. The Band lost not one person, and not a single soul was truly certain who had caused it, but the war came to a grinding halt.

The factions remain equally powerless even now, our flagships ready to smite any whom would attempt to replace war-fleets. We’ve since kept our eyes on them, but there is not much to see. No-one who might have truly wished revenge was left alive to seek it. There are still civilians, and their ships, disagreements and skirmishes, but there is also peace.

I suspect, and others agree, that this was a welcomed incident– a way out of the battle for those many draftees and would-be defectors. None of them wanted this war, and those that did now lay dead with their gold-laden pockets to weigh them down.

Sharok remains in power over the Band of the Red, its reach greater than ever, but she is no longer concerned with coin. We three, remaining members of the Einheit stand by her, policing the space around the Band’s planets with our flagships manned by skeleton crews.

Where we began seems so far away now, that it is almost anti-climactic in the eyes of one who has lived it. But this is simply my story– my ascension through The Band of The Red.

We have since taken all military ship-building plants in pieces aboard the flag ships, dividing them as best we can to set down to build our own fleet. Presently, Second and I share a special place with one another in this endeavor, while First heads up the creation of a new Galactic government. His virtues are true, as are the Band’s: No more will the want of a few coin-fixated men and women, determine the fate of billions. The Band of the Red will forever be in charge of the galaxy. With its resources, and code of honor from eons past, it will be a fine flag of peace for the masses; this in spite of its former, treacherous dealings. But at least now, the Galaxy’s people know to question their leadership.